It s’not a home any more


If you happened to visit me right at this moment, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d mistakenly walked into a dispensing chemist. Or a doctor’s surgery. No one would institutionalise you for imagining you’d set foot in a small hospital.

If your nose, unlike mine, happened to be unblocked, you’d be hit by the stench of vicks. Followed by a lingering aroma… Puke.

You’d be shocked by precautionary ‘sick’ bowls scattered around. But as you bump back down to earth, please note that there are four children in this house and one elderly lady almost forty-year old, who’s knee is so wrecked she can’t hit the bathroom floor at full pelt like she used to (as is sometimes required during projectile vomiting).

If you are planning a visit, could you please bring a new bottle of cough linctus? The one we started at the beginning of the week will not survive until the end of the day… And a box of lovely soft tissues? We’re approaching an emergency use-bum-roll-in-the-facial-region situation.

Also, could you send in an industrial strength cleaner? He/she’ll probably need to wear a face mask… Actually, tell them to bring ear plugs too… To block out the sound of the cheerful Tweenies who are presently trying to sing the five-year old well again.

Thank you. In advance.

I’m not being forward, am I?

You’re sure?

In that case, is there any chance of some chicken soup?