They shoot horses that have what I have

While I was off galavanting in my nostalgic sandpit, my hubby and kids stayed home and got on with things. Part of getting on with things for my dear darling spouse was to undertake his yearly dose of tonsillitis. Without fail this poor guys tonsils flare up at least once a year, and usually at the start of winter. His was a delicate year, ok? So be nice.

Now, as awful as it may sound, I was sort of relieved not to be around when his inflammation got underway. Relieved but dreadfully guilty too - just so you don't think I'm a terrible wife. But I figured that two weeks of me avoiding his sicky germs, a doctor's visit and a course of anti-biotics would have sorted the dear man out by the time I got back to him.

Of course, when I returned, little conversation was spent on the state of his tonsils. An epic match of tonsil-hockey, however, made for a memorable reunion. Ok, ok! So I know you don't peep into my blog for all the juicy little details (you don't, right?), so I'll leave it there. The point is, that four days after my return to glorious South Africa, my husband's nasty little gremlins have spread down my throat and planted a cactus patch somewhere between my tongue and my voice-box. Also, it would seem, they are painting out the inner walls of my nasal passages with copious amounts of gremlin lava. Bottom line is: I've got a bad cold and feel completely sorry for myself.

The kids continue with their verbal diarrhoea (I swear that is how we are supposed to spell that word in South Africa - 4 years of Nursing Science at a renowned South African university can't be wrong!), but it's the mental constipation of their utterings that is rather tough to bare with in my morbid state. On the upside though, I can deal with even silly prattlings, because my ears keep blocking up, shutting out even the highest, squeakiest whine. Hhmm, this head cold thing could have it's advantages after all...