Infectious Parenting

I am beginning to suspect that there may have been a degree of political interference in my health. That’s the only explanation I can think of for this trumped-up chest infection and the misery that goes with it.
I’m thinking of getting the NPA to decide if the sickness I’m suffering can be dropped as soon as possible, but I suspect that even if I did manage to convince them to do it, Helen Zille would immediately launch a civil infection against me.

A problem shared is a problem halved, so I passed on my viruses onto little K-pu – well, she seems to be doing fine with half my genes.
The results were dramatic. So far, several people have been covered in baby vomit. Fortunately, as a scientist, I choose to observe from a distance. Just out of range.
The initial decision to infect my daughter, together with the messy outcome has left me rather unpopular, except with the paediatrician and local pharmacies, who are bucking the trend of the recession in which South Africa doesn’t find itself.

So, ostracised to the bedroom where I can’t infect anyone, I’m left with choosing which UEFA champignons league quarter-final to watch, listening to Franz Ferdinand’s Lucid Dreams, ( and eating fruit salad. Helfee, you see?

Later this week, I will be blogging about the upcoming CokeZeroFest at Lourensford, Somerset West. Watch this space.

Written on my Sony Ericsson Xperia X1. In bed.
And really getting a little fed up of it now, frankly.

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