Friday, January 25, 2008

"Womiting bad sorr"

We have been experiencing norovirus this week. Which conjures up images of wrinkly stockings and Compo*.

Thus the computer sat silent for a few days while the bathroom has seen as much action as it can stand. Buckets and bowls have done their duty too. That's one good thing about being a child, you get to lie in bed and your parent gets to hold the bucket for you. Beats having to leg it to the toilet. Although they seemed to think it was pretty ghastly all the same. Don't know they're born!

You get used to having whole nights of sleep. With babies, you become accustomed to living, well, subsisting on minimal sleep and 'though you're the waking dead most of the time, it gradually gets better. Next thing you know, you're sleeping all night and taking it for granted like it's normal. It's a real shocker when something disturbs that blissful sleeping-through routine again.

When Jon Bon Jovi sings that he'll sleep when he's dead, it gets me quite riled. I can scarcely believe it might once have been a view I'd have subscribed to. Ha! What foolishness to denigrate the glories of a good night's kip. Alas, I've been reliving the baby nights but with added poo and vomit. Yes, there was poo and vomit in the baby days, but despite babies' reputations, it was blander stuff and not as much as you might think. You don't really want me to elaborate.

* And actually that ties in quite neatly with the womiting of the title, since that was from James Herriot and that was set in the Yorkshire Dales like Last of the Summer Wine. So it's all intermeshing marvellously.

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