I'm wrecked again.
I went to see my particularly disinterested doctor yesterday who, after I told her I thought I had sinusitis, didn't bother to examine me, signed a prescription and sent me on my way. A great credit to her profession, I'm sure you'll agree. (There again, it was quite late in the afternoon and she probably had a private patient waiting).
Anyway, I live on which is surely the main thing. And, indeed, I'm glad about that as an usually fun weekend lies ahead.
I don't intend to be mean in saying that. It's just that, since the onset of fatherhood, it's not always easy to get out at weekends, which is fair enough. I was never much of a nightclub person anyway, mainly because - being an Ulsterman - I can't dance.
However, tomorrow night, I might have to have a go as Vanessa and I are off to see Coldplay.
Then, after a night at Grandma Judy and Grandad Mike's (both of whom can actually dance) where Jamie will be parked from 7pm, we're back home to host some good friends for lunch.
But before all of that - tomorrow lunchtime - we're taking our boy to see Santa for the very first time. And not just any Santa, hell no. We're taking him to see the most annoying, irritating and, frankly, awful Santa one could ever dread to encounter.
More on all of this in the next couple of days.
Meanwhile, Jamie has developed a habit of spotting his food and opening his mouth long before it ever reaches his throat.
Does it remind you of anything?