Proud.

We're still at the campsite on the beach, and this damn illness that has affected the girls, is still lingering on in Skye's guts, though only just. The latest victim is poor old Tom. He's got things coming out of both ends on an infrequent basis, though still the little fellow is suffering a bit.

I must say though that though they have all been feeling quite awful, they have been stoic in their suffering.

Which for some reason makes me feel very proud.

I am fortunate so far in so much as I haven't been touched by the poo virus. Other than whilst wiping bottoms (Ann's excluded of course).

I am not good at being ill, though so far I have found, drinking a bottle of Rioja a day, during Ann's absence from imbibing, may have warded of all but an occasional heavy head in the morning.