When I was growing up my Dad rarely went on business trips and when he did it was usually to see some sort of nuclear machine in Switzerland. I remember his trips for two reasons. Firstly because he used to bring back presents, a music box, a bear, chocolate. Secondly, because whenever he went away some calamity would befall the family. One year there was the UK's strongest hurricane in decades, made famous my Michael Fish declaring there was only a bit of mild wind on the way. Another year I recall my Mum dropping me off at school and watching the exhaust fall off the car as she drove down the road.
This tradition seems to have been passed down a generation and, with stunning regularity, Eve always gets sick when the Boy is on a business trip. Of the 4 times we have taken Eve to hospital (not as extreme as it sounds, the doctors in HK don't do "on call" so our only option on a weekend or evening is to head to the local hospital), three of these times the Boy has been away.
He flew to Turkey on Sunday. Today is Tuesday and, true to form, Eve has a stinking fever with no obvious cause and I am looking at a sleepless night on my own.
The sarcastic cynic. Or something like that
5 weeks ago