Watch This Space

I couldn't be any less busy if I were Emilio Estevez, Rose. 

So with me having more free time than Rhianna has haircuts (as you so rightly pointed out recently), I drove out and saw my niece and nephew, and gave them each one of those clocks that look like a giant wrist watch. How retro, no?

And, boy oh boy, did these things take me back - way before Mighty Ducks, even Hot Shots. I'm thinking Donna Jo "D.J." Tanner had one of these hanging on her bedroom wall around the same time John Stamos had a career in showbiz.

Does this hair make me look cross-eyed?

But there was a bigger surprise in store on my trip out to the burbs. The land where kids have snotty noses and lick every surface in sight.

I quickly discovered that I'm a mysophobe. Or, for any Jessica and Ashley Simpsons in the audience, I'm not one for buffalo wings that've been served by dirty hands, or miming wrong songs into a mic that was last used by a Spears sister with the sniffles. Or, I hate germs.

See, my niece was blowing green bubbles from her nostrils, so I didn't go near her. And my mother - well, she felt "a little off-colour", so she had a temporarily stay in Dead To Me. 

My hands still tingle from the hand sanitiser. They're suffering more than Charlie Sheen's nasal passages.

So my feet are how far away from being fitted out for the right sized tissue box? And Cate and Leo need to wait how many months before they again respectively win and lose little gold men at the Dolby Theatre for telling my tragic story?

It's a sad day when you have to admit you have yet another thing in common with Suri Cruise. That you're both petrified of what lies ahead. Even though - and quite rightly, too - I'm still somewhat more optimistic.