We pay the price for socialising – both Smalls have conjunctivitis. Small Z has a voice that sounds like she’s spent the day at a football match shouting at the top of her lungs. I have had to kneel on Small DB four times to administer antibiotic eyedrops. Small Z owns the longest eyelashes you have ever seen and I had to unweld all of them this morning when she couldn’t open her eyes for goo.

This is not the week I had planned…

I felt so bad for them that I took them out for hippy icy-poles in Balnarring followed by a baked potato with cheese. Couldn’t face our normal library ‘Tiny Tot Storytime’. At home, I put up a play tent, read a great deal of The Folk of the Faraway Tree and kept the snacks coming. Mostly to soothe my own guilt at having to hold down Small DB and shove drops in her eyes. And then shouting because it was so stressful. There are few things more demoralising that your two-year-old lisping pathetically, “Don’t uth dat voice, mama, don’t uth dat voice.”

As for me, I can feel niggles in my eyes that I don’t know if I’m imagining. I feel a creeping malaise at the top of my skull and the back of my throat like something is trying stealthily to Bring Me Down. I’m throwing back the garlic and lots of soup. We have a caravan adventure planned for Saturday night…and it’s swinging in the breeze.