I have been sick since Thursday, with these symptoms:

Bubbling, crackling, wheezy lungs
Headache
Tiredness
Hacking cough
Achy chest
Fever

I have been quite Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge about the whole thing, coughing up consumptively, quite daintily, and still carrying on with my day job. She with her corsets, obviously, me with my new Levi’s Curve ID skinny jeans that drag the loose mother-flesh up into the mid-waist area which can be nicely tucked away into a very tight singlet. Everyone wins. But I digress.

So I figured by Friday that I had pneumonia, because another mother at school had had it, and it was time I had an Objectively Acceptable Reason for Lying Down All Day. Old school pneumonia, which meant I might die (channelling Kidman again, see), or scar my lungs and always be the last one to walk up a hill/go hiking/do an aerobics class properly ever again. A damaged lung would be a sad, romantic Wuthering Heights-esque problem to have.

So, in order to avoid a terrible outcome such as outlined above,  I have stayed at home, indoors, and lay on the couch and stared into middle distance and sighed a lot. I have outsourced the school run, missed the parent council meeting, missed the assembly (where, incidentally, both kids got some action – Barnaby got a bloody prize for being good and Noah sang some incomprehensible non-denominational Christmas song with his bewildered reception class…you attend these things all year, clap politely for other kids, sit through scared and whispered performances of Frere Jacques by swathes of four year olds you don’t know, all the while waiting patiently for your own to get a certificate, and MISS BOTH their glorious moments while suffering at home with Old School Pneumonia).

On Saturday, I wept a little, as the children did some very bad things, sensing my vulnerability like wolves, terrorising the both of us with noise-pollution and scribbling on the walls, refusing to do their homework and calling me “Lazyhead”. I know I should be above the name calling, but it gets me everytime.

“LAZYHEAD? What did you say? Come here and say that, young man!” on and on to infinity and beyond.

This morning was Mark’s turn to get up and by the time I got out of bed, he was wild-eyed and the children were wrestling each other, variously undressed, the breakfast things piled up everywhere, scratches on all parts of exposed flesh, and he wailed “I can’t live like this!”. Well, no, dude. Four children, five and under, in a 2 bedroomed flat in central London is MENTAL. That’s why people stare! It is for FOOLS, this large-family-schtick. But, you know, mostly happy fools, who normally just get on with it and I HAVE PNEUMONIA SO SUCK IT UP!

Anyway, time for some first world problems.
1. The cleaner has tidied away my Prada glasses and all I can find are the cheap Boots extra pair. I hate wearing glasses, but when I do, my spectacle of choice is by Prada. Now, Alina the Cleaner has HIDDEN them. It is cruel and unusual punishment to be without them, and the Boots pair not only are unstylish, but they are very thick, and make me a little bit wobbly when I walk. #doublefail

2. I cannot get through my Jilly Cooper “Riders” bonkfest in time for The Mucky Bookclub via Twitter because it is just too crap. I cannot read such dated drivel. I know that is not exactly getting into the spirit of things, but I have drawn a line. No Jilly Cooper books ever again. (Erm, admittedly am still only at page 45).

3. I have real actual bookclub with live, non-virtual adults on Thursday at my flat. I am to provide dinner. It is to be vegetarian. The fear of vegetarian cookery has been keeping me awake at 4am. Vegetarian lasagne has been done by the other bookclub attendees, as has vegetarian curry. WHAT ELSE DO VEGETARIANS EAT? Cake? Cheese? A whole lot of cheese? Any suggestions that will help me look sympathetic to the non-meat-eating cause & perhaps look a little sophisticated (but not hard, tis a school night and all…)

Much appreciated.