In the latest stage of the constant biological warfare the kids have been waging against my poor, beleaguered, middle-aged body, Holly has pulled a neat double-whammy over the last two days. Not only going down with one of those weird childhood Lurgis that no one has ever heard of till their kids get it (Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease), she has also managed to get fucking nits. So, in addition to introducing me to the germs that made me shit like a fire-hose for a fortnight, followed by the Let's See If Daddy Can Turn His Lungs Inside-Out bug I am now faced with the prospect of doing some serious long-term Great Ape style grooming.

Apologies by the way if you are one of the people who went to Ilona's writing thing and were seduced into thinking I might have something relevant of interesting to say about anything other than the state of my bowels and my children's current parasites. If you are one of the people who didn't go to Ilona's writing thing, I will explain: Last night I got a phone call from Ilona who was doing a creative writing thingie about "Writing Your Life" the next day. Could she use my blog as an example (an example of what she was careful not to say). I being the reticent, publicity-hating, shy, retiring, utterly unflatterable hermit that I am said. 'Yeah, go on then, but just make sure you spell my name right.'

Gah! I hate the thought of nits. It doesn't matter how many times it says on the leaflets and the packaging of the bucketful of Anti Nit Gunk* we have applied to her tender little bonce, that head lice actually prefer clean hair, and that every kid in the world will get the little buggers at least once in their life, it still feels shameful to me that my kid has got them. It really does.

On the plus side of the week (is this a plus? Almost certainly not, but...) I noticed a friend of mine had breasts. If you had asked me the day before this happened I would have, in theory, known she had them, she is after all a woman but suddenly, that day, I noticed them. We were blethering away about something and suddenly her voice just faded out and all I could think was "Oh my god! she has boobs!" I found myself drifting off, doing that male talking to boobs thing that males do. To boobs. Wow. Talking boobs... Boobs. Booby, booby, boobs...

...sorry did you say something?

Right! Now... To... Carry... On... The... Conversation... Without... Looking... At... Her... Boobs...

Your eyes are drifting down again, Baldwin. Up! Up!

It was very disturbing. Boobs can be scarily hypnotic.





Track of the Day: 'Music for The Khurdakistani Space Programme'

*We've updated the Great Ape style grooming a bit. Up to all-out, neurotoxin chemical warfare status.