We're on a pleasant trip to a country house in Hampshire. When we get there, W is feeling ill. A combination of winding roads, a large breakfast and a residual morning sickness do not bode well. Mother-in-Law (MiL) has already gone ahead at this point.
Me: How are you doing?
W: Not good.
Pause
W: Have you got something I can use?
Me: Use? Oh, I see. (searching around, I find a M&S bag in my pocket).
W: Why've you got that?
Me: Shopping, I always carry one. They make you pay 5p for that.
A veritable torrent later and we discover the bag has a few holes.
W: Great! New jeans as well.
Me: Oh dear. It seems to have caught most of it.
W: Lucky you had it.
Me: This isn't just any bag, it's an M&S bag.
I spend the next few minutes wandering around a National Trust car park with a bag of sick. There is no bin. Fortunately, closer to the stately home visitor centre, I find a small receptacle. Lifting the bag is not easy and a small dribble runs down the side of the bin. At least no one has seen me. I'm pretty chuffed that I'm relatively unperturbed. I feel this is good preparation for the baby mess ahead.
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