Like Lazarus, I have risen from the dead.
I woke in the early hours of Sunday morning to find that the children had slain me with the evils of the sickness bug. It was not a happy awakening in any sense.
I spent all day yesterday alternately sleeping, vomiting and/or running to the bathroom. It was miserable.
Tilly was better by Sunday morning. Oscar recovered by mid afternoon, which made things easier for poor Jason, who was left manning the fort.
This morning I am better. He is not.
We are dosing him up with everything we can find and confining him to a liquid diet in the hope that he too, will have a miserable twenty four hours but be all well by tomorrow. We NEED this to happen if we are to get to Copenhagen by tea time tomorrow.
I am doing a lot of praying and thinking positive thoughts. He is mostly looking grey around the gills, and not caring one way or the other.
I promise that I will stop blogging about vomit now. There is only the cat left to get it, and as she hates all of us, and has turned her face to the wall, thanks to a combination of vile weather and the fact that we are leaving her, she is not likely to succumb at any time.
I am off to boil all the towels and bed linen, take down the plague flags and pack my pants. I haven’t allowed myself to get excited yet, but there is hope that this time tomorrow we will be winging our way towards Denmark.