When you write a post

When you’re happy with it

When it’s ready to go

And then your phone loses connection

And when you get it back it has gone, gone, gone

No more wise words

No more breath taking prose (snort)

No more

Bugger

I might rewrite it, I might not, but it won’t be happening anytime soon as Miss M is sick again. She came home grumpy, fell asleep on my knee and as I carried her up to bed her hot little body sent alarm bells ringing through my head. We’ve gone from 39 degrees to 38.6 so it’s heading in the right direction, but I’m not expecting much sleep tonight.

So I’m going to head up the wooden hill and maybe read a little before once more setting up my sleeping bag on Miss E and M’s floor and keeping vigil on on small, lurgy ridden Beaufoix babe.