I get all sorts of visitors to this blog. There’s a little widget at the bottom of my sidebar which tells me (and/or you) which nationalities are reading me. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Saffas and Brits top the tables right now.
What my little widget doesn’t tell me is which parts of the human lymphatic system are reading the site. And yet evidently, my son’s tonsils have been logging on of late. Upon reading my Ops and Balls post, they immediately went into action in order to prevent any sort of family fun this weekend with, I suspect, the final aim of avoiding their extraction on Monday.
Thus, on Thursday evening, we rushed the boy into the handily local Constantiaberg Medi-Clinic with a temperature of stupid degrees Centigrade (that’s ridiculous degrees Fahrenheit) and were informed by the doctor there that he (the boy, not the doctor) had the biggest tonsils that he (the doctor, not the boy) had ever seen in a two year old. Of course, somewhat ironically, you can’t do a tonsillectomy on a patient who has tonsillitis and so it’s a monster dose of anti-inflammatories and equally large amounts of cefuroxime (second generation cephalosporins rock my world) in a concerted effort to rid the kid of his infection before Monday.
And – touch wood – it seems to be working so far.
Looking out of the window at my garden, I note that either I have extremely good eyesight or I didn’t actually even manage to get on the plane to Fancourt. Due to business commitments, my wife is there though and she’s taken baby K-pu (the smaller of our little angels) with her. Fortunately, K-pu was packed as cabin luggage, since SAA didn’t feel it was necessary to take the passengers hold baggage to George with them*. My wife still plans to attend the Fancourt Ball this evening, despite the fact that her dress (or “gown”?) is still somewhere en route via the N2. At least it’s a bit closer than my tuxedo, which is in a cupboard upstairs. 🙁
Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing the photos of what should be a memorable event. Especially if the dress doesn’t get there in time.
Right – parenting duties call. It seems that I have a Thomas the Tank Engine railway to mend and judging by the increasing desperation in the repeated requests, it’s rapidly becoming an urgent job.
I’ll get my spanner.
* Note to my work colleagues – I told you SAA were kak.