A visitor alerted me last night to the fact that this blog is ranked number one out of several million websites on Google for the phrase "as it transpires". I had no idea I used it so often. I might need to broaden my vocabulary.

Anyhoo, as it transpires, I didn't feel quite as well as I thought I would this morning. Having had some rest yesterday afternoon, I perked up a bit in the evening (particularly when Amelie went to bed), so I confidently set my alarm for work today. Which was pointless, as I tend to be woken up by children (mostly my own) before it ever goes off.

I managed to drag myself out of bed and get as far as a cup of tea and a shower, but having done so, I finally admitted to myself that I felt a lot worse again, and after a stern talking-to from Lisa, who took advantage of the fact that I couldn't answer back, I agreed to phone in sick again - by nodding as I took some paracetamol. In reality, of course, it was Lisa who phoned in sick for me. I didn't want the office thinking it was Marlon Brando trying to contact them from beyond the grave.

So I spent the day at home. And by 9:30am was wondering if I'd have been better off at work. If there's one thing I've noticed about the under-fives, it's that they tend to put their own needs above those of their sick father. As far as Amelie was concerned, my proximity to death's door just made me a more convenient playmate. And she doesn't go to nursery on a Friday. So I haven't had a great deal of peace.

To make matters worse, my throat problems seem to have expanded into a sore head and blocked nose, which could technically be classed as a cold, but is almost certainly far more serious than that. I'm thinking SARS or the Black Death. In addition, Toby's been griping about his teeth all day in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, which possibly explains my bad headache and similarity to a zombie.

As it happens though, I'm not the only one who isn't working at the moment...

Our lift's been out of order since last Saturday. I had to come home at lunchtime on Wednesday and carry Toby's buggy down the stairs before driving off to Lewes, just so that Lisa could take Amelie to nursery. That graffiti's not mine (I wouldn't end a sentence with a preposition) but the author's got a point. Our rent includes a maintenance charge to prevent problems such as this, and it impacts on us all greatly. Lisa struggles to get out with two children at the best of times, so a few flights of stairs make it virtually impossible.

But the good news is that after seven days with no lift, an engineer finally turned up this morning. And worked on it for a few hours. Before leaving at lunchtime. And not coming back. It's now Friday evening, and the lift still isn't fixed. It's a good job I'm too ill to go out, or I might be quite annoyed.