For those of you who missed the countdown, my husband returned on Saturday. Bit smelly, featuring rampant stubble and eyes like shrivelled raisins – VEINY shrivelled raisins – but still hotter than Jason Bourne on a cracker. And you can’t say that about many men. Or women, for that matter.
This morning, he came down with an acute case of time-zone flu. A regrettable side-effect is that his rating has slipped. He is now hotter than Jason Bourne in a wet t-shirt – but it’s a close thing