Not Twenty, But Eight Days Later

I have a virus. Not the Rage Virus, as featured in the above movie, but more of a beige virus. At least if the colour of my phlegm is anything to go by. I didn't want to turn my colleagues into a tribe of snot-zombies, so I spent the day in a Lem-Sip and chicken noodle fug at home. The drawback of spending a day at home, and I am sure there are those of those of you who would do anything to be in my position - is that, NOTHING, funny -happens.

One of the great things about a career in medicine, is that you would normally get a bloody great laugh, or story, out of every day. Hide under the blankie, with a sinusitis headache, and you're probably not reaping great blog material. The dogs were cute, but not producing blog-worthy moments, and the kids were less than borderline cute. The good news is that, Guiseppe, the dog walker, has taken them to Blackpool for a couple of days, while we hit The Boosh Festival. So they should come up with some great Northern gags on their return. Eee, ecky woof.

Perry is off to Iceland tomorrow. So hopefully he'll come back with a family 'BeeBeeCue' multipack of 14,723 items for four quid. That would be offal, come to think of it. Now there's a gag I missed, my offally wedded husband...