Seema, my sister, is not very well so I Florence Nightingale'd round to her gaff armed with two bags of Waitrose finest to keep her going for the next few days. She's super skinny and I suspect she eats really badly, if at all.
As I write Seema is convalescing on her sofa, keeping her cat Billy captive with her under the duvet. She is bonkers mad about that cat. I mean totally obsessed.
I never really understood, until I had a baby.
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