Every sodding year, without fail, I get ill at Christmas. I swear my body works in collusion against me. It never just opts for the mild bugs either, the one days worth of sneezing and it’s done type bugs. No, my immune system likes to hold out for the real bad mo-fo’s. The hardened criminals of the viral world, the mafioso type bugs that make you feel like utter death. And are impossible to shake off. I’ve actually now had this vicious, snot riddled, rictus cough addled flu thing for ten solid days now.
I managed to survive with the assistance of the continual consumption of paracetamol, until they actually started making me more ill than the bug itself. So I then stopped. And literally sweated it out in my in laws spare bed until the bastard decided to leave my system once and for all.
In true predictable fashion, neither of the boys, nor OH caught it. Just me.
Despite this repugnant condition, Christmas was still very nice. The boys had a wonderful time playing with their cousins, I had a wonderful time gossiping with my sister and we all enjoyed a vast profusion of calorific goods. DB1 rejoiced loudly when he spied his Lego present, just what father Christmas had been informed he wanted. And DB2 simply ignored his gifts, which is probably a fairly standard response for a 6 month old.
Boxing day we headed off down the motorway to OHs parents. And of course, got stuck on the M25. Seriously, how do commuters bear that road every day?? We only navigate it about twice a year, and that’s twice too many times for me. We sat, teeth gritted and fists clenched, for about two hours in total as the cars inched their way around the road; with DB2 screaming angrily in the back. I couldn’t actually see him, as he’s got a rear facing car seat. All I could see was his little feet and hands pedalling furiously in the air as he gave voice to his pent up frustrations.
Then, to top it all, that night at OHs parents, DB2 decided it would be imprudent to sleep. He held out til 3am before finally conking out. On top of my flu, this left me in not too healthy a state the following day. Ditto OH. Even the lure of the sales couldn’t snap me out of my dazed, stupefied, frazzled reverie as I staggered, shivering and shaking, round Taunton town centre.
I think at some point, father christmas pointed at me, laughed a big hearty ho ho ho and then told me to stick a partridge up my pear tree. Humph.