Saturday 18th March 2023
Dear Diary,
Just popping in to open a page for March, as you do.
What a shit few weeks we’ve had in the quasi mansion. Literally. We’ve had Norovirus and shitting is a big part of it, just in case you didn’t know. Sick was also thrown into the mix, or rather thrown up in the mix. I went down with it first, and then Dick and even Shane succumbed. He was most displeased, as shoving your head down a toilet clearly compromises one’s authority as well as dignity. The smell oozing from the bathrooms was unbelievable. Zoflora didn’t touch it. Then, just as we were recovering from that, I developed a sore throat, headache and runny nose and started feeling sick all over again. Yep. Covid. Again. Dick was livid, like I’d done it on purpose. He was next to fall and then Shane. Honestly, it’s been hell, like living on a plague ship and wondering who’s going to die first.
Thankfully there have been no fatalities. We’re all on the mend now, though I’m still getting a headache on and off. People seem to have lost their fear of Covid, but I think it’s still scary. You never know how it’s going to affect you.
Dick’s in favour of implementing a rule whereby I never leave the house again, as he reckons it was me who brought the virus duo into our midst by hobnobbing with Eileen’s brood of great nephews and nieces during recent half term. Kids are germ factories. He’s not wrong. Norovirus is sweeping through school age kids at a rate of knots apparently, along with chickenpox, Covid and probably other hideous infectious diseases. I hope ringworm doesn’t mug me out of the blue. Eileen had a mild run in with Norovirus, but seemed to escape Covid, unless she had it without symptoms. I felt most sorry for Eileen’s nephew and his missus. The very thought of coping, as they had to, with a house full of spewing, shitting kids at the same time doesn’t bear thinking about - like something out of a horror film. Eileen had to rush out and buy several new sets of bedding because nephew’s missus couldn’t bear the thought of trying to launder a mountain of stinky vomit encrusted linen. It was better to bin it than risk her washing machine becoming the source of the next world pandemic.
Enough vomit talk. Christmas has barely faded from memory and now Easter looms on the horizon. We’re trooping down south to visit Dick’s family this year. His sister Linden became a mummy on the 7th March when she gave birth to a baby boy. It will be nice to see him in the flesh rather than on a screen. Dick is thrilled for his sister, and his parents for becoming grandparents at last. I’m still trying to get my head around the baby’s name. Ignatius. I suppose it fits the general eccentricity of Dick’s family. Mad as March hares. Maybe Linden is just taking the piss and the baby’s real name turns out to be Ian or something.
Well, peeps, time to go. We’re off to Leo’s for dinner and staying overnight and having Sunday lunch with him tomorrow as well. He’s into Lebanese cuisine at the moment so should be interesting.
Ciao for now.