I've had today at home with a nasty throat infection. The sort that feels as though burning razorblades and fingernails are cohabiting in your throat and makes you sound like Darren Lockyer.
I can be the masochistic kind when it comes to illness. Normally I'll try to ride out a headache without resorting to painkillers and when it comes to sore throats, I'm the same. I can't stand throat lozenges (they make my teeth feel furry) and will grin and bear it for a few days rather than gargling Dettol.
Tom has just arrived home from work. Bearing some sort of antiseptic throat gargle. He's told me I must either take the gargle or drink his homemade concoction of crushed garlic, fresh ginger, lemon and boiling water. He swears the latter kills all germs and it wouldn't surprise me if it did - if I were a germ, I'd up and run if I smelled that coming towards me, too.
So it comes to this. Tom knows I'll do the gargle over the feral tea and is guilting me into it by using the 'if you love me you will' argument. GRRR!
If you hear screams of agony coming from Prahran, don't be alarmed. It'll just be me, taking my medicine. With love.