Dolly is a little off colour. She is ensconced on the sofa, swathed in blankets with a cup of tea and her book du jour at hand (The Julie/Julia Project if anyone is interested...you can blame Mme Child for the Frenchie peppering of this post)
Cuddled in next to her is Babbit, a 42 year old pyjama case that has travelled extensively with Dolly. Babbit hasn't held any PJ's for a while now; in Dolly's teenage years he was more likely to have a mini bottle of vodka and 10 Marlboro lights stashed away but today he is the proud bearer of a partly eaten bag of Twiglets and 2 aspirin.
Dolly's vintage kimono and well washed pashmina are de rigour for poorly ladies I'm told.
Although handling her unwellness like the martyr she is, Dolly is a little peeved that the other members of the household have also decided to come down with the lurgi, depriving her of the sympathetic helpers needed to truly appreciate the tinkle of her 'Baby Jane' bell.
The children are all delighted by the recent turn of events as, according to the latest school missive, flu symptoms mean an immediate one week quarantine. However, Dolly's not convinced. Mon Dieu, just because her partners' snores sound like a wounded farmyard animal, that surely doesn't mean he has the swine flu!