chuck in

Twenty to one in the morning of the day before we were due to get up at three in the morning to get to the airport by Very Early was not an ideal time for the youngster to start puking. The first time it was possible that it was maybe just nerves or too much pudding/supper, but round two at twenty to six suggested either some sort of unpleasant ingestion (an apple at the holiday club and/or fingers in mouth after the Meadows Playpark and the bus there and back) or (worse) one of the emesis lurgies, potentially the one which makes both ends go. I have successfully contained both types in only the infected child before, contrary to the doom-mongering of a fellow parent who is also a nurse, but I don't imagine there's any easy way to get a child who needs to basically live in the toilet through a three-hour flight and adjoining airport gubbins. Fortunately, careful cleaning-up, strict hand-towel discipline and the gradual and tentative re-introduction of simple fluids and non-threatening foodstuffs meant he was almost normal by the time I finished work, meaning I could argue that the best way of getting our bags to the evening check-in was by me going by myself to the airport on the tram, rather than adding motor-car journeys to an already carbon-heavy holiday and using up more than three person-hours for the process.