Contraindications

Having a child at home sick is usually a bit fun, in a way: no need to wash your hair; impossible to work ("So sorry, completely unable to focus, it's the worry of everything and all the appointments.."); walk dogs or go to the supermarket.

It's also pretty much ok to have the telly on all day, but this has become more of a feature rather than a benefit of the situation as the patient's standard interrogative conversational style has taken on a self-righteous bark that is blatantly a product of watching too much daytime advertising: "Are our pets properly insured?", "Are you concerned that our elderly relatives won't be able to contact us in the case of an emergency?", "Had an accident at work?".

To break the tedium we go to the doctors and pick up a prescription for antibiotics, which can't be issued without difficulty because the till in the pharmacy has broken. "Sorry I can't help you we're unable to open the till," whinges the assistant with Nik Kershaw hair and lipstick to match her glasses. "Only if you've got the right money." I don't need to pay for the antibiotics so this doesn't present too much of a problem. I am however, in need of some Nytol and if the wretched till was working could get away with buying some because I'm pretty sure Kershaw wasn't working when I last bought some three weeks ago and wouldn't usher me into the consultation room for a scripted bleat about habit forming behaviours and the three nights in a row rule.

It takes three customers paying with the right money for £3.24 to accumulate on the counter, which is the change I'll need from a tenner for the Nytol. So far so good, only the atmosphere has taken a turn for the worse and you feel it is only the low-level infection among the gathering crowd that is stopping it from looting. "I only need £3.24 change, well call it £3.20 if it's easier and..." "I'M UNABLE TO HELP YOU I'M VERY SORRY UNLESS YOU HAVE THE RIGHT MONEY," Well I only need £3.20, £3 even would be fine..."

Desperation to secure your drugs, even at an inflated price, is a clear signifier of addiction and a wave of "Well that's how it is with them" eye contact ripples around the store.

Meanwhile the child, bored now with the plastic spoon that accompanies his medication, has moved on to the leaflet of contraindications. "I'm allergic to these antibiotics," he announces two minutes after his first dose, which we administer on the doorstep as I have forgotten to pick up a key and we are locked out. "Itchy palms and feet. I also have a sore throat." Pointing out that a sore throat is the reason for taking the antibiotics in the first place falls on deaf ears. "It's a different sore throat. Look at my hands. They've gone all lumpy. Quick let's climb through the window before my fingers are so swollen I can't bend them."

He slips through the window like an eel. I'm surprised that he knows to do this, but it turns out that this is the only route into the kitchen from the front room since the front room door handle fell off. "JEEEZ. You need to keep an eye on this. I could go into anaphalactic shock in the night," he calls from the office a bit later on. "And that Nytol One a Night is indicated for twice-only use so it's probably a good thing that the lady started shouting when you tried to grab that money."