DH is ill. Just a bit of the old diarrhoea, nowt life-threatening. He is insisting on being ill downstairs though and it's getting right on my wick. If someone said to me "honestly, just go to bed for the day. Put the television on and I'll bring you up a drink" I wouldn't need to be told twice, let alone six times. As it is, he's sitting on the sofa fully dressed in jeans, jumper, tweed jacket, shoes as if he's going to go out on a country stroll. I've just offered to make him a hot drink and he did some whiney noises about a Cup-a-Soup so I've done him his pissing soup and he is now holding his mug like a camp John Inman with his legs crossed. Oh God I want to punch him in the throat.
JUST GO TO BED. I know you're ill, I don't need you moping about to prove it.