Nothing Spells Glamour Like A Spew Wash.

So the kids are recovered from the snot festival, and I only have the last lingering symptoms, but Keith is pretty sick. He's got the rabbity eyes, the hacking cough and he's gone all cotton-woolish. Earlier he crawled down the hall back to bed to save energy.

But is he planning on playing soccer this afternoon? Oh yes, yes of course. Only the Ebola virus would keep him from his soccer game; and only then if his organs were actually liquefying. Your early-stage shakes and fevers would never keep him off the field.

I fear it will be a pitiful sight.

Now the colds are over the kids seem to have caught some sort of tummy bug. Let the night-spews begin! The house is groaning under the weight of stinky laundry and washing-up.

I've loaded the Ipod with interesting chatter, I've got my working boots on and I'm ready to take on the challenge. First; to rinse a voluptuous vomit off a straw rug under the tap of the water tank.

Wish me luck. I'm going in.