It's been a long time since I've been the healthiest in this house. We all have a nasty bug which involves misery in the stomach, throat and chest departments, but I seem to have got off lightest. Bob is utterly miserable and has a nasty cough which sounds a bit like there's a tubercular bull up the stairs. Anna is lying on the sofa, actually more miserable, congested, sore and washed out than she was yesterday.
I was amused by her certainty that the fact that her throat sometimes isn't quite as painful is down to hot chocolate and not the copious amount of Nurofen and Calpol that she's taking.
I, on the other hand, am bunged up, washed out, a bit dopey, and more than capable of delivering a swift box of the ears to any smartarse who dares suggest that this condition is not that far removed from the norm.
This is, I suppose, just as well, as I'm about to brave the local pharmacy for more pills and potions.
So, blogging may be a bit light for the next wee while - but that doesn't mean that Tony Blair isn't going to get a posting full of cold fury. I am not going to waste my money on his book - and in fact, the quotes I've seen have already made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end - but I will probably try and watch his interview tonight. I loathe Margaret Thatcher for the malevolence she wrought in our national psyche, to our communities and to our industry - but I loathe Blair even more for the way he let down the poorest, and for, of course, Iraq and the consequent damage and loss of life and his attachment to the coat tails of George W Bush. You just don't expect that from a Labour guy. With David Miliband, cast in Blair's image, likely to win the Labour leadership, the Party will remain arrogant, out of touch and downright dangerous.