The shniffles

Currently, I live in a house of Snot.

The other half has a had a near-fatal case of man-flu for the past week, in that it nearly killed him not being able to play 5-a-side football, but the poor soldier managed to drag himself to the sidelines to cheer along his pub team the next day, before crawling back to bed at half-time in defeat. Defeated by The Snot and fever, that is. His team won 2-1.

I have been sleeping in the spare room all week, so as not to be kept awake by the piglet/man snorting and sniffing in my ear-hole all night, with the added bonus that the computer is in that room so I've been able to enjoy YouTubed DT snippets before bedtime (see last post re. the tragicness), and as such have been hoping to escape The Snot myself, although as a woman it would of course be nowhere near as fatal for me.

No such luck. I left work this afternoon, indeed, I got all the way until the end of Eastenders, Snot-free. But throughout the course of the evening The Snot has slowly infiltrated and got the better of me. I too am now Snotty.

The other half has been given anti-biotics today for a particularly nasty sinus infection, so I can't take the michael out of the"man-flu" too much, but this does mean our bank holiday weekend camping trip is postponed from tomorrow afternoon until at least Saturday morning for a Snot Status Review. Now, at this rate, he will have recovered and I'll be snorting and sniffing. But maybe, with me being a girl, its inferiority in the seriousness stakes will mean I just might be able to brave 2 days and nights in a tent.

Or maybe we'll stay at home all weekend with Lemsip on tap, several family-sized chocolate bars and Doctor Who boxsets series' 1-3, stoically braving The Snot. Because that's just who we are - heroes.

I called this post "The shniffles" because if I write "snot" one more time I shall start to feel a little bit sick.