Arse!

I'm at my wits end with winter. I'm topped off with 2008. I'm fed up with February. I'm sick of sickness. I've got the arse with ailments. I'm cocked off about conjunctivitis.

It seems bloody endless, the cycle of fiddle-faddling childhood complaints and cold weather-loving viruses. They can all just bloody well sod off. Chicken pox for T, followed by a round of proper man-flu flu for all, after which we succumbed to norovirus which we did tag-team style, then a couple of days clear, and T's now got conjunctivitis. Which isn't serious, but his swollen eye looks like he's gone a few rounds with Lennox Lewis, and I'm just so ticked off with it all I could cry.

I long for the summer holidays where we're all outdoors imbibing the freshness of air and the sunshiney stuff of legend; when the kids won't be cheek to jowl with other people's foul, plague-carrying children all the time, coming back with their bugs and nits and songs about poo.