I'M TREADING the stairs of my home stealthily every night at the moment, straining my ears for any untowards sounds.
The Long Suffering Marjorie gets home long before me and it is her I'm listening out for.
I'm listening for sickly groans emanating from the living room or -- which would be music to my ears -- the sound of vomit coming from her poorly frame.
I'm hoping that during her month-long stint as a teacher at a local primary school (as part of her intensive teacher-training course) she will return home with the so-called "winter vomiting disease.
Then I hope she will give it to me.
Last night I thought my luck was in, but her slouching posture, sunken eyes and pale complexion was a result of staying up into the wee hours of the morning marking.
So far her school remains bug-free, but with most of the country falling foul of the highly infectious virus -- especially schools -- it's only a matter of time.
One school in Cornwall had half of its 1,100 children ring in sick on ONE day this week, all claiming to have developed the bug.
Preston has been hit hard and schools in East Lancashire are beginning show signs.
School was neither a good nor bad time of my life, and I never have the yearning to wish I was back there frolicking in the school yard with my chums (and I don't do the friends-reunited thing either) but I wouldn't mind being a pupil at the moment.
Trying to convince Mother Dearest that I needed a day off school because my stomach hurt was like trying to tell the people of a long-forgotten Pendle that the boiling cauldron was for cooking use only.
I was literally projectile vomiting in the wind. But now children all across the land will be waking up complaining of feeling ill, and thousands of parents will feel nothing but obliged to believe them.
Granted, many will be genuine cases but in the throes of a crisis opportunity breeds -- the ghoulish souvenir sellers who make money out of tragedies are an unfortunate testament to that -- and there will be most certainly be those who seize the initiative.
And fair play to them. School is the ideal time to "throw sickies' because it comes with no baggage.
Taking a day off school does not mean that your workload is then burdened on to the shoulders of your already over-worked colleagues, so there is no feeling of guilt.
And it's your mum who rings in and informs the relevant department, so there's no need to fake an altogether unconvincing croaky voice and prepare for a Spanish inquisition from the boss.
It's not like that at work. Taking days off sick with anything other than a genuine complaint, is a dodgy practice.
Steeling yourself up to ring in is highly stressful and then you're on tenterhooks all day hoping the phone won't ring.
Then there's the excuse you need to fashion and perfect for when you do finally reappear.
It's enough to make you ill.
It happens of course -- last year (fact fans) the average employee took 7.8 days off sick costing their bosses around £434 each -- but personally I'm not one who subscribes to such thinking.
And that's why I'm hoping for a genuine bout of illness.
The sudden onset of sickness and "projectile vomiting" I could do without, but the three-days off would be most welcome.
I've always wanted the flu but so far it has passed me by.
The thought of being bed-ridden for up to a week appeals to the non-adventurous side of me, but it's never happened.
I've had the sniffle and thought my boat has come in at last, but the next day I'm OK again.
And that means going into work.
Perhaps I'm immune to the flu, so I'm banking on this latest outbreak.
And with 600,000 Britons affected each year, I may just be one of the lucky ones.
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