September x

September x

Well after a week of planning great things for the Bank Holiday I found myself nursing my two little girls and then just as they perked up I came down with the lurgy and had no alternative but to accept treatment from Dr. Hattie and Nurse Libby. When your head is pounding and your body aches there is nothing quite like the giggling, poking and prodding that little children can inflict upon you to make you realise just how ill you feel.

After a night of nursing a coughing, spluttering and restless three year old Libby, I awoke to find that my herbal remedies and local honey had worked a treat on her and whilst she playfully bounced on my bed, I began to wonder if there was any way of swapping my aching body and pounding head for the day. As I sniffled and wheezed I gave serious consideration to the body swap idea and decided that this was a good option if it could be done with some twenty year old, supermodel with boundless energy that had the looks of a goddess and patience of a saint. Although feeling as grotty and lethargic as I did that morning I would have opted for one of Worzel Gummidge’s spare heads; after all mice nesting in my head would surely feel better than the sensation of a steel band reverberating from the inner corners of my mind.

Failing to find a suitable head or body swap I settled for a strong cup of coffee and a naughty morning biscuit. Just as I was contemplating emerging from the duvet and the pounding in my head was fading to a dull thump, I became the unsuspecting victim of my two darling daughters who were now known as Nurse Libby and Dr. Hattie. Armed with various toy syringes, thermometers, stethoscope, a toilet roll and a plastic rocket launcher, they assured me that they were going to ‘’make Mummy better’’. When Hattie announced, ‘’this will hurt, but it is for you own good’’, whilst clutching her toy rocket launcher and lunging towards my head; I confess that I had some reservations about her unconventional treatment methods. Thankfully my ordeal only lasted for twenty minutes and as my head was expertly wrapped in toilet tissue and my pulse was taken, Hattie announced with glee that I only had minutes to live, but she said cheerfully, ‘’it’s okay Mummy because I will dig a big hole in the garden and bury you’’.

With only minutes to spare before my diagnosed demise I decided that I had better finish off all my writing deadlines and get the kittens fed. Thankfully after feeding the little fur-balls and settling down to my writing there were no signs of imminent death so it was quite evident that it was not that rare and contagious strain of flu that men so frequently contract. With renewed optimism I began to celebrate the joy of life, until Hattie appeared and with a stern look upon her face,   and said ‘’Mummy I have your medicine’’, at which point Libby stepped forward with a rather squashed, half eaten brioche roll, and with a wicked grin, she said, ‘’here is your medicine’’. Glancing down at the rather sad and suspicious looking offering, I enquired where it had come from, to which Libby explained, ‘’we found it in our den’’. With Hattie keen that I should take my medicine in order to get well, I employed the tried and tested parenting technique of distracting them with a biscuit whilst making an escape.


Well there is certainly never a dull moment when it comes to living with children. Tomorrow I shall have to be recovered as I will be leaving the green hills of West Wales and heading off to London. According to Hattie we will be spending a fair few days Wombles on Wimbledon Common although I had rather thought I was researching my new book, shows how little I know!

Until next time a sniffling farewell from West Wales