Biohazard

Following our wallowing at Kozan, Cian found himself on Monday evening covered in spots. At first we thought some of the local insect population had been drinking themselves stupid on his particularly tasty type B blood ("a beguilingly fruity flavour with more than a hint of cherry and a cheeky after taste"), but it turned out to be chicken pox.

Or rather, sweet mother of Jesus, THE POX!!!!!

Out came the holy water, calamine lotion, rosary beads, cloves of garlic and napalm. Goats were beheaded, chickens sacrificed, and Sanae did the forbidden dance of the Seven Samurai in a vain attempt to appease the angry Gods of the Pox, Itchy and Scratchy.

No, nothing worked. And so Cian was banned from his nursery school, for they feared the darkness would engulf them too. Bitter fools.

And so the boy with the pox had to stay home from Wednesday of last week which meant somebody had to stay home with him and your biohazard beating blogger drew the short, contaminated straw.

In truth, there was nothing really all that wrong with Cian as he received a vaccination for chicken pox two years ago, but four days in a row in the house had the two of us bouncing off the walls and each other.

"Right, time to feed Cian then"