Eeeeew

We had the day all planned out. Nobby was going to do the weekend party-run (birthday season has begun), thrust the children into the sugar-fuelled fray then take himself off for a mooch round the shops while I stayed at home and bashed out another essay. Then, after a quick lunch, they were off to the cinema with some friends to watch Up in 3D.

Oh, the best laid plans.

Curve-ball number one was my almighty hangover this morning from completely over-indulging at our anniversary dinner last night. It had to be done really; ten years ago I was pretty fuddled poncing about a restaurant in my wedding dress waving my bouquet around, I thought I could recreate the moment. Wrong. Capacity for alcohol is way down and I don't think we'll be going back to that restaurant in a hurry.

Well, I ask you: you've got a busy, successful eatery slap-bang in the middle of a European capital city, why the hell don't you accept credit/debit cards for payment? Even sober I find that kind of reluctance to join the rest of us in the 21st century somewhat insulting. Give me half a bottle of nice red wine and I can get very verbal about it. Tip? I'll give you a tip - don't sour my anniversary treat by making my husband run to the cash point so we can settle our bill. Now stick this piece of coal up your backside; give it a day, maybe two, you'll no doubt squeeze it into a diamond.

So I spent much of my kid-free morning feeling rather nauseous and not really getting much written down on the very bright white piece of paper moving about in front of my eyes.

Then my friend calls to cry off the cinema trip because she's just found head-lice on both her kids. Apparently the nit-nurse was in school on Friday as there have been a couple of cases, not that I heard anything about it, and despite being declared nit-free on Friday she'd just pulled 31 lice out of her son's mop. Eeew.

We've never had a nit-problem at our house, mostly I think because I diligently keep the children's hair completely filthy. But Pickle returned home from the party scratching his head... you guessed it - nits. Oh nuts.

I whizzed out to the Sunday pharmacy for some treatment, earning a sympathetic-if-slightly-disgusted look from the pharmacist, and we all spent the afternoon smelling pretty awful from the hairline upwards and fighting the urge to scratch imaginary lice running down our necks to escape the napalm in our hair.

After rinsing, in good mother-gorilla stylee, I then set about picking nits off every inch of my brood's scalps. I am pleased to report there were only two actual crawlers, one on each kiddy, although they were crawling no more after their dowsing. What a way to spend an afternoon.

I wonder if I can get extra time on my essay deadline? 'The lice ate my homework, Sir.'

Now, stop scratching.