This is a bit of an impromptu post, spurred by recent events in the O’Shea household. Before I go any further I just wanted to pre-warn you, there are graphic details. And not in a sexy way either.

On Tuesday evening I felt unwell. By the time I was drying my bonce at about 10.30pm I felt really sick and had to have a sit down. By 11pm I was sat with my head over the toilet bowl retching to the point I thought I might give myself a nose bleed. This continued every hour on the hour until 5am. I can honestly say that I have never felt so awful in all my years on this earth, not even after consuming half a bottle of Malibu and copious quantities of coffee liqueur truffles at my friend Paul’s house in the late nineties (we were 17, there was nothing else in the cupboards.)

Mabel, bless her heart, remained in the land of nod throughout the entire episode. My husband on the other hand rose dutifully to the challenge of cleaning up after me whilst simultaneously trying to make me feel better and continually checking our daughter was safe and sleeping soundly.

There was a point somewhere around the time when all that was left for me to bring up was bile that I thought “I have never looked so unbelievably sh*t in my entire life”… I know, how very vain of me. But it’s true, in the decade James and I have been together there have been many times when I have hardly resembled what could be described as “my best” but seriously, this was a whole new level of train wreck.

I had puke in my hair, across my thighs, on my hands, my virtually naked post-pregnancy body was splayed across the tiled floor underneath the most unflattering fluorescent spotlights known to man and I was green. Literally. Apart from perhaps the area underneath my eyes, that was an attractive shade of purple.

And there was me a couple of days before bemoaning my rather desperate lack of pedicure and the fact my roots haven’t met with their best friend bleach since March, I must have looked like a bloody supermodel in comparison to the creature-from-the-living-dead pallor I was working the early hours of Wednesday morning.

The next day I still felt lousy, and was more than a little mortified by my lack of dignity the night before. I asked James (in a very small embarrassed voice) if he still fancied me, to which he laughed and said “Of course, why wouldn’t I? after all this is what we both signed up for.”

Aye, indeed we did.

Marriage is forever togetherness in sickness and in health, taking the rough with the smooth and the good times with the bad. Making mistakes, making amends and making thousands of beautiful memories.

The moral of today’s feature: Your partner will think you’re hot stuff even when you look like crap. And invest in some of those super “soft glow” bulbs for your bathroom.