We went into town today for a number of reasons. Mainly that I had to get a new coat with a credit note Sue had (my Christmas gift wasn't the right one).
We went to a Mexican restaurant in Covent Garden for lunch and then I treated myself to a few minutes browsing in Fopp.
Then the day went DOWN HILL.
When I came to pay for my goods, I couldn't find Sue or Em anywhere. A quick call from Sue and I found them in the lift, along with a pool of sick courtesy of Em.
The good people of Fopp were incredibly understanding, and in hindsight, it was better in a little used lift instead of all over product they might actually be able to shift.
We dressed Em in my coat, I wore my new coat and we headed off.
Emily, obviously under the influence of some horrid stomach bug, did not limit her wretching to Fopp's lift. We also managed to get a 38 bus soiled, just outside of Victoria station. This time, my new coat was also victim to the guttural stream of delight (as was my current coat which Em was wearing at the time).
When we got home, thinking - foolishly in hindsight - that all was well, we now have half our settee drying by the radiator having had a cushion mopped down to get rid of the sick.
At times like these you really want to point blame and yell at someone. Especially when you're nice, expensive brand new blazer is yacked on and you've not even owned it for four hours.
Like anyone being ill, it's not Emily's fault and I find myself angry at fate or myself.
Of course, Sue and I are really only concerned with her staying hydrated and getting better. We don't really want her going to bed in her bed as choking on vomit can be quite lethal - as we just watched a character in Breaking Bad die that way.
Here's hoping our collective Sunday isn't as brutally horrific as today has been.