Sick

Sick, sick, sick. We are all sick at my house. Practically every form of virus or bacteria known to man, is currently lurking around here somewhere (okay well maybe not anthrax). Though I have considered painting a yellow cross on the door like they did during the plague.

Hubby has made himself scarce, citing busy at work. (Yeah right, you spend most of your day in the cafe downstairs). He reads this blog, usually to find out how his marriage is going! NOT VERY WELL TODAY MATE.

Not that I'm cross. Of course not. He has to work, and just because I'm sick, the kids are sick and more unbelievable than usual, and I am supposed to be at work and have about a thousand desperate students waiting for their scholarships which I should be dealing with, but instead am parked in the lounge, counting calmly to ten and think of reasons not to strangle the little darlings who won't bloody sleep er... where was I. Yes. He has to work, and he earns more than me and that's that really.

Anyway. So, I must apologise for not blogging much of late. Sick kids slow me down, but when I get sick as well I tend to grind to a complete halt, and the blog suffers. Though mostly because I'd just rant on and on about how foul I feel, and how I am persecuted by the entire medical profession who don't understand how sick I am, and don't understand I want PILLS, and refuse to prescribe a nanny and a housekeeper. I tell you if they were part of the medical benefits scheme I reckon the birth-rate would triple.

sigh.