Time for hot lemon and honey

It is not easy to write emotional naked scenes when one's man is crawling about the computer plugging in sundry wires by one's head and one's feet. I know he needs to check out the new laptop, I wouldn't dream of snarling at him and telling him to go away. But I feel these things should be said.

Think the last four days have about drained me of resistance to the head-filling, throat-grating germs that have been lurking for the past week or so. Saturday's concert went well, though the afternoon's rehearsal was a tense affair, the various principal organisers obviously being a bit worn-down by it all. And I must mention that a brass band, however tuneful, makes a hell of a lot of noise. Particularly when you are sitting right in front of it. The concert was recorded. Hmm. I suppose I could inflict a CD on my parents, should one be produced - as revenge for their being apparently uninterested in our company at any stage over the Christmas period.

I want to go back to bed. Instead, Sainsburys. Moo.