This is not a good time to get a tummy bug!

I'm sitting here with a belly that's doing a damn fine impression of a speedboat's wake, wanting to be getting on with all kinds of interesting middle-of-the-night-before-the-night-before-christmas type things like putting the last three years worth of kids toys in bags to go in the loft (or to the charity shops) and clearing loads of washing up away and processing the mound of bed linen that desperately needs a trip round the washing machine and all I can do is waft between the sofa and the bathroom hoping that this will be that grand occasion that signals the end of the problem.

Allison woke up with it and promptly passed it on to Charlie, who's kindly lumbered me with it just at my most productive time of the day. They've both happily spent all day lounging around with long faces complaining that they don't want to eat and I've been hard at it - I've even made a mercy dash over to my folks' house to sort out their own present storage crisis. Now it's looking like the only thing I'm going to get done is preparing the rubbish bags for the last collection before the big day, just as I finally get all of the ill layabouts out of my hair.

Arse, arse and buggery.

I even cleaned the fridge.

I should explain that the reason most of my posts lately have been kitchen based is that it's my territory. In a shocking case of role reversal,I'm the one who does the cooking - and I've got bloody good at it. This will be my...fifth? fourth? christmas dinner and wobetide anyone who tries to "help". I know how long the turkey takes to cook, I know when to put the roasting taters on to parboil so I can give them an hour in the oven, I know to give the veg just 20 minutes at the end so they're not all mushy, I know that the stuffing ain't going up the damn bird's arse, but is going in a damn microwavable bowl and getting zapped with five minutes to go because the oven just ain't that big and I hate pissing around inside that icky cavity. Getting the giblets out is going to traumatise me and they're helpfully sealed in a plastic bag!

I also know how to store the remaining three quarters of the turkey we won't eat on Sunday so that we can still be ploughing through it next wednesday. By which time I will never want another turkey, stuffing and cranberry sandwich for as long as I live - for the fifth year running.

Somehow, even though there's only four of us - two of which won't eat anything that doesn't include sugar and E221 - we've managed to fill three huge tins full of biscuits, a giant tub full of sweets and procure enough tins to singlehandedly populate the school stage for next years' harvest festival. As usual we've stocked up for a month-long seige despite the fact that the shops are all open at 10am on Boxing Day...

And I'll bet good money that come Tuesday they'll be complaining that there's nothing in to eat.

Do I sound like a housewife? Is that a sexist statement? I don't care. Anyone want to pop round and cater for us over the next couple of days? You're quite welcome, so long as you can cook without touching my kitchen...