There I was lying in bed - 6.45 old time. I had the Australian F1 recording so that I didn't have to get up at 5am. Planning out the sequence of things I'd do on a quiet Sunday.
John, Steph and Max are in the throes of multiple bugs. Upset tummies, sickness, chicken pox, more tummies. They resistance must be rock bottom. Could I have Ben for the day. Of course. (curses under breath) I walked down to get him - it's a lovely day so that was nice.
He played on the computer, sat drawing and colouring rockets and then said he had a tummy ache. A millisecond later he had thrown up three great heaves, splattering all over me, all over the things littering the sitting room (we are having a new carpet in the bedroom because of the flood last week, so everything is decanted around the house) all over his clothes, all over my slippers. Inconsolable, all he wanted his daddy, so I rang John who got off his own sick bed and came to collect him. Ben wouldn't stay with me. So now I've cleaned and disinfected, steamed the floor and am sitting in peace on my own. Getting my wish. OMG was that a rumble in my own tummy?