Daddy had to return home early from work the other day. Mummy was suffering from the horrible winter vomiting bug; she was in and out of the toilet and was unable to look after baby as a result. She was bed-bound.

Daddy waited nervously for it to be passed on to himself.

In the meantime, Daddy stepped up to the plate and felt as though he did a bloody good job of it.  He was now chief of the house — a Project Manager of the whole building.

The scene inside the house was developing in to a scene reminiscent of Saving Private Ryan – dirty clothes, used towels and wounded toys littered the trenches..I mean, house. Mummy was MIA (Missing In Action) and out for the count in bed with a bowl by her side, all the while baby decided to throw up whilst inside her cot. Man down. Man down.

It was time to fight back against the enemy on those beaches of Normandy – namely sick and shit. Baby’s clothes were covered in sick; baby’s cot was covered in sick, the cat was running around the house making noises I never thought existed – it was chaos on the front line. Daddy assessed the escalating situation and made the first step at defeating the enemy. He made himself Commander In Chief and picked baby up from potential further enemy fire, but as daddy picked baby up, a sudden smidgen of sick made contact with his shirt. An instant whiff ensued – a possible chemical attack. He moved on. He took the affected baby clothing off of baby — some of the sick made its way on to his fingers. He would not surrender.

A swift bath and change of clothes for baby was co-ordinated with the bare amount of equipment available to daddy. He washed himself down and was ready for his next mission.

He survived.

…..That evening, whilst scoffing on his homemade Turkey Meatball Korma Curry with Peshwari Naan and Mango Chutney (for one), he was struck down with the same bug. He awaits reinforcements for extraction.