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Tuesday 20th January 2015

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On Sunday we had been out to lunch with some friends. One of the other guests was Grub Smith, who long-term readers might remember as my rat-syphillis infested opponent in “The Other Boat Race”.  Somehow, over the last decade, the obnoxious and diseased Smith, who always seemed destined to die alone, but for his rat lovers, has not only found an intelligent and beautiful woman to marry him, but has created a fully human child. I would ask how he has managed such a turnaround, if I myself had not gone on a similar journey - apart from the rat syphillis (though I did once get owl non-specific urethritis).
Grub and his family were recovering from a bout of norovirus, but claimed that they were no longer infectious. I had been a little sceptical about that as Grub in particular looked a bit peaky and kept popping to the loo, but I get invited out to few enough dinner gatherings, without ruining one by claiming that one of the other guests might pass on an horrific virus to me.
But I knew Grub was still smarting at having been beaten at rowing by me about 11 years ago. And knowing I would never let him give me rat syphillis, I wondered if he'd come up with another plan.
I had woken up yesterday with a slight sore throat, as had my wife, and I started to worry that we might have been infected. And though I was feeling a bit queasy, once I got out on the road and Doctor Theatre came into play, I was feeling fine. 
It wasn't until I spoke to my wife on the way home and she said she was feeling ill, that my nausea returned, but surely this was all just in my head. Doctor Theatre can't be that good.
By the time I got home though Catie was clearly suffering and was soon being properly ill, which was all the more worrying given that she's heavily pregnant. I was still feeling largely OK, but I started going through the same symptoms that I had seen in her just an hour before and so felt that I knew what was coming. I hadn't been properly ill like this since my birthday in 2010, and the memories of that made the anticipation all the more horrific, but I was distracted by concern for my wife and unborn child.
And the norovirus only gave me a glancing blow. Although I felt like being sick I managed to get through the night without throwing up, though feeling pretty lousy. In the morning I was mildly sick, but nothing compared to what Catie or the 2010 me had gone through. I felt slightly annoyed. I didn't want to get the norovirus, but if I was going to get it then this would be a great opportunity to shed the half a stone that I have completely failed to get rid of this year (I've put on weight, in spite of being generally good). Yeah, 24 hours of squirting out of every orifice is pretty horrific, but when you find you've dropped a dress size (I don't wear dresses, but I like to keep a note of my dress size just in case I am ever asked to wear one by someone else), it makes it all worthwhile.
It was still bad enough to leave me week and disorientated and to make me lose my appetite, but I was only going to lose pounds, not demo-stones here.
Luckily the virus couldn't do any harm to the baby, but being 8 months pregnant is taxing enough without something like this to add to the upheaval. My main fear was that Catie would go into labour at this point and we'd both have to cope with the illness on top of everything else (though I understand that birth can sometimes be more traumatic for the mother).
This is all good practice for what is to come. It's telling that in both the last two times I have spent some time with friends with kids that I have ended up getting quite badly ill afterwards. And from what I hear that's pretty much how it's going to be. Children pick up these viruses and pass them on to you and you've got to pick yourself up enough to look after them through it all. We've made a terrible, terrible mistake, but I guess I am going to have to live with it.

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The audio version should be up on the British Comedy Guide and iTunes soon.
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