MY late father used to say that The Mother was the nicest person he’d ever met and growing up my sister and I benefitted greatly from this…never more than when we were ill.

At the first hint of a sniff The Mother would go into full Florence Nightingale mode with blankets on the sofa, chicken soup, Lucozade on tap and constant attention. No request was too much as egg custards, rice puddings and  milky coffee emerged in an unending stream from the kitchen as she catered for our every childhood whim until we were restored to full health.

As a result my sister and I have very high expectations of the level of care when we are ‘bad in bed’ as my grandmother used to say.

Sadly, the housemate’s attitude to sickness is very different…think more Dr Crippen than Nurse Florence.

Thankfully I’m not left to her mercy very often but this week I did find myself laid low by the dreaded covid and at the blunt end of her caring nature.

“Well we won’t be getting the garden done this weekend now,” she announced when I revealed that I was beginning to feel less than healthy.

“Don’t forget you promised to type out some letters for me…you’d better get that done before you get too bad,” she added sympathetically.

“You’re not very attentive,” I whined as the illness took hold and I battled on bravely.

“I don’t like to be nagged when I’m ill,” she replied. “I just like to be left alone so I just leave you alone and don’t nag you. There’s no point asking how you feel every five minutes because nothing will have changed,” she pointed out. “And you’ll probably tell me,” she added under her breath.

“It doesn’t matter whether anything has changed…it’s just nice to be asked,” I argued wondering what my chances of a rice pudding or even a ginger biscuit were.

Thankfully despite being trapped in isolation I did get regular calls from The Mother, albeit sadly without the usual accompanying lightly scrambled eggs and Rich Tea biscuits which she would have delivered to my childhood sickbed.

“You should go to bed,” said the housemate as I languished on the sofa, telling The Mother how dreadful I felt.

“I might do that,” I replied.

“Good…because I can’t hear the TV over your sniffing and coughing,” she added in obvious relief.

As I slowly began to recover I noticed the housemate beginning to sniff and splutter.

“Are you ok?” I asked in concern.

“I think you’ve given me covid,” she replied with an accusing tone.

“Well don’t worry I won’t ask how you are every five minutes,” I said with a smile, slowly beginning to feel more human.

As I continued to improve the housemate continued her slump into covid hell.

“Can I have some tomato soup,” she asked as I passed through her sickroom.

“Ok,” I sighed.

“And some toast…and some painkillers…and a cup of tea…” she whispered hoarsely as I left the room.

“You can think again if you’re hoping for rice pudding,” I snapped as I pulled the door behind me, knowing that the person who doesn’t like to be fussed would be demanding constant care for the next week!