We all respond in our different ways.
SecondSpawn wraps himself up in a blanket and retreats to the sofa. He’s gone down with some virus/bacteria infection which has given him a fever and rubbed the lining of his throat red-raw removing the ability to swallow and talk much.
FirstSpawn requests deodorant, chocolate-scented, and pooh-poohs (I use the expression advisedly) my suggestion that regular, frequent and thorough attention to personal hygiene is more effective, cheaper and would prevent the danger of attack by frustrated and therefore enraged chocolate-seeking bees.
I step out with a pair of scissors into the area behind the house inaccurately known as the “garden”, that word containing as it does the implication of cultivation. The fact that I can’t actually find the rosemary bush I am seeking to snip (and I must make it clear that this is a very very very small garden) may indicate the level of lack of human intervention in the burgeoning plant life.
Where I thought the rosemary bush once grew was instead a curtain of young saplings with leaves liberally sprinkled with vile and vicious alien creatures. And to make matters worse they were fornicating with abandon.
Well, abandon in two senses perhaps. While the male clung on and intermittently shook his booty manically side-to-side like the rattle of an excited snake the female strolled around apparently oblivious to the proceedings.
I needed the rosemary to flavour a roast which is of course the most sensible thing to eat in midsummer.