Ahem, hem hem hack hack

Last week Mr Smith had a stinking cold.  In fact he is still a bit irritatingly throat cleary.  I was so smug thinking I had escaped this nasty germ but I now have the sorest sore throat and the most splitting of headaches and I feel grim.  At least I don't have to drive half way across France.  I can stay in my nice warm bed with my nice warm tea and my nice warm dog.

The dog has grown a funny little quiff recently.  He looks like Tintin having failed the audition for the part of Snowy.  He is missing some of his tail and has regrown these bits on his head.  Not knowing his arse from his elbow? - yup that's our dog.

So far, since the royal sacking, Mr Smith has only been at home for one day and I really enjoyed having him around. I did have to tell him not to police me (i.e. What are you doing?  Aren't you going swimming/to the gym?) but this taste of retirement wasn't as insufferable as I thought.  He did horrible tasks like washing up and rubbish emptying and we went shopping together.  I'd like him to dig the garden, clean the silver, bath the dog and shout at that horrible BB (our younger son).  I was quite looking forward to his early retirement but he is busy being very golfy and very job hunty. Whilst this gives me space to watch Corrie catch-ups and cake programmes during the afternoon, I don't actually mind if he's here during the week.  It makes every day a weekend or a holiday.  Sadly, he doesn't see it quite like that.