Why is it that the first week back at work sinks slowly into the deep deep aches of your bones? Whilst the first two days were manic, it has become increasingly more difficult to leave my duvet induced coma first thing in the morning, throwing me back to faded memories of minor tantrums before primary school.

I'm not against work. In fact I love my job which admittedly not many people can say. No day is the same and different things need to be done each day. But it is difficult to get your brain back into work mode when you can't remember any of your passwords nor some of the more obvious names of your closest colleagues. So it's not the work per se but the getting back to into working mode and hauling ass out of before before 7am each morning. A very early 7am in the morning.

On the plus side, Girlpants also has to get out of bed at the same time. After all, if I have to suffer getting up in the darkness and then returning home in the same, then so bloody well has he. After all, I did come and mop his poorly brow on the numerous occassions of man flu last year. The man owes. Question is, can I milk it for breakfast in bed or a cup of tea? My moneys on the latter