For the past ten days or so I’ve been whinging my way through a chest infection. My partner’s been sent out for lemsips, tissues, the blood of a vital youth filled with hopes of a bright future, and chicken soup. With the last dregs of the lurgy coming out of me in runs of coughs I’m starting to feel well again, meaning I’ve a weekend of ignored chores to catch up on. That and attending a one-year-old’s birthday party.