First day back home

Ottawacker Jr walked into the bedroom this morning at around 5am with a very sore throat and said he was feeling terrible. Pumped him full of Tylenol and put him back to bed, where he spent the next couple of hours. Welcome home.

To say that this was a day spent doing little of import would be an insult to people who spend their days doing little of import. It was as if I had been bitten by a tsetse fly or something. I moved in slow motion, spoke in broken, halting sentences, and essentially let myself off the hook for tackling the NZ job I was supposed to be starting.

Ottawacker Jr was quiet and listless, and voluntarily took himself off to bed at 6.30pm without having dinner. I pumped him full of Tylenol, sang him a couple of songs (the only kick back to a time when I could make a difference in how he felt) and he slept for the next 12 hours without a sound.

Mrs Ottawacker and I had dinner – quick and easy, salad and pasta (not on the same plate) – and then watched some mindless shite on tv before going to bed ourselves at 9 o’clock. Oh, the joy of being jetlagged. And 58.