The Final Countdown

Murphy created a law, Alanis Morrisette wrote the song 'Ironic', some other chappie with a greater grasp of poetry coined the term 'best laid plans of mice and men'. You can call it what you will but basically I don't care. I have spent the last two weeks using some fancy foot work to sidestep, duck and dive, float like a butterfly yadda, yadda, yadda, in order to outwit the stubborn cold germs everyone around me seemed determined to present me as a bon voyage gift. And did it help? What did I do? What did I say to deserve waking up this morning with a throat feeling like it has been scoured by a cat's tongue coated in steel wool and a headache to rival Anne Boleyn's. So sucking on a tree load of half-ripe super-sour lemons was of no practical value whatsoever? Typical. The male members of my family, with caring brotherly concern, insisted that I not touch anything lest I share the germ love at my farewell/birthday bash. Segregated to a corner at my own do! Talk about salt in the wounds!

Ah well there is little point whinging and snuffling pathetically for chicken soup. I'm on my own now for the next four months, it's up to me to remember to wrap up warm and drink plenty of fluids. So Louise, supreme effort required but you can do it. Wake up at the sound of the alarm, drag your sorry arse out of bed in the dark and get to the airport before the sparrows are even contemplating farting in the trees.

I am staying at my brother Matthew's place overight and he, as always, is being a fantastic brother looking after his little sister. The Olympics games are on telly and there is a bit of frenetic cheering coming from his flatmate Suphie as she sits on the Swiss ball bouncing for joy as the Kiwis win rowing medals. Bronze for Mahe, bronze for – er-um the other two and Gold for the Ever-Swindells. Sign of the times, we can update the headlines on the NZ Herald through wireless connection in the living room while simultaneously watching the action of the box. Sheesh talk about unnecessarily contemporary! It is truly a 'Now Generation'. Later the All Blacks versus the Springboks will be happening in the living as Matt camps out on the sofa in front of the Sky coverage while the rest of us sleep. He has been known to emit the odd whoop at our national sport. Dad used to be asked not to support his children on the field because of his loud sideline reffing.