It's nice to be reminded sometimes...

Himself is sick.

There we were, home at last on Friday, lazing around in the afterglow of a good week's work done (on Himself's part anyways), thinking about how we were going to spend the rest of the evening (after I had finished reading my Nordic detective novel - God knows, you can't get a word out of me when I'm tucked up reading one of them. And the library filled one of their 'don't know what to read?' wheelie units full of them and entitled it Snowy Death for my delection this week, saving me from even having to ferret them out), when suddenly Himself is throwing up into the toilet (I do love a man who throws up into the toilet. I went out with one who insisted on throwing up into the sink all the time and was then too sick to clean it up) and is lying in bed all hot and feverish and s-i-c-k....

I wiped him down with a damp cloth all Florence Nightingale-like, and resisted the urge to give him a whatchamacall it with it (I am not too up on the male dressing room lingo but you know what I mean).

No?

Well, I know what I mean and it's not as bad as it sounds.

Oh no, since I started typing he's arisen from the feverish near dead and is up and at the tomato soup!

Let's hope it works.

There's nothing worse than throwing up tomato soup.

After reading this out to Himself, he concurs.

It'll kill him or cure him.

Well, he can't be that sick if he's laying into soup and bread.

He was probably just making room for it, after his enormous Chinese takeaway dinner that Andy the big boss bought for them all for being such great workers.

Now we're onto the 'maybe it's the sludge that is killing me slowly' conversation.

Maybe.

I must check whether the company has paid up it's workers' compensation payments.

I am JOKING!

We are both just bone tired I think.

Today's exciting news is that it rained.

Proper rain. Sheets of it hurling itself against my office window. The clouds low over the harbour and the oil tankers and the Post-Panamax cargo ships looming out of them with a suddenness that is entertaining when you are desparately looking out of the window because the pile of work on your desk is so soul-destroying you would rather look at the rain.

With a 90kmph wind that skitters the water uphill so it looks like a river has jumped out of the harbour and is disobeying the forces of gravity on the slopes of the hill upon which downtown is piled.

I love when it rains like that. People stop and say: 'does it rain like that in Ireland, eh?' And I say: 'oh yes.'

'Most days.'

Their faces are a picture.

The other exciting news is that we bought a GPS unit. From a bloke in the AirForce base. For $75.

We ain't never getting lost in the woods again, nosirreebob.

Not that we ever did. But now, we can get out of the car, plot it on the GPS, break through the tree cover and go where we please.

We can get lost deliberately.

Hooray.

I think.

Which reminds me of another ex of mine who used to get lost on the mountains deliberately for the fun of it.

But who despised people with GPS units.

It is so nice to have a boyfriend who understands that I hate to

a) get lost in the woods for no effing reason, and

b) clean up other people's hurl.

Now if I could just get him to stay away from my nice tomato and basil soup that I had planned for later!