PET'S name: Eddi. Pet's age: three and a half. Because I work for the Adver, she can't enter the paper's Pet Idol competition, but she wants to show Swindon what a pretty dog she is (you'll have to ignore the muddy tongue).

Apparently, Eddi has been throwing a bit of a diva strop over the fact she can't enter the Pet Idol competition.

According to reliable sources (my mum and dad) she sat and posed for pictures thinking she was on the road to stardom - only to find my job as a journalist blocking her path.

So in a bid to try and save my parent's furniture from wilful destruction from the stroppy Springer here she is.

While the latest addition to the Tye clan can't be crowned pet of the year, yours could.

Just keep your eyes open for the application forms in the paper.

First prize is a year's supply of Oscar's pet food - handy for any pet owners whose cuddly (or slithery, fluffy, slimy) companions eat them out of house and home.

While she is a gorgeous looking dog, Eddi can be a right fusspot about her food at times - so it's probably a good thing that she can't enter anyway.

Give me a break, I'm unwell

AND it had all been going so well.

Regular readers of this column will know that last year I was struck down by tonsillitis - not just once, but four times in three months.

Since then the two useless lumps at the back of my throat have thankfully remained illness freeuntil now that is.

Last week the bane of my life came back with a vengeance.

On Sunday night my throat started to feel scratchy and the familiar ill feeling started to come flooding back.

By Tuesday I was sleeping for England and could be compared to a dormouse - well they spend most of their time dozing too don't they?

Although, I bet their tonsils don't give them any grief.

I swear, the only purpose my tonsils serve is to get infected, swell up and cause me untold amounts of misery.

Admittedly it isn't as bad as the first time (you'll all be glad to hear that the tonsils aren't green covered pustules waiting to burst quite yet) but after a year in remission it's a bit of a shock to the system.

But I've had to battle through it.

It also means that I'm back on the lovely antibiotics, which stop me from drinking.

Chief reporter Gareth Bethell left the paper on Friday to head Down Under and if I'd been well enough to go to the pub I would have been angry that I couldn't down a cold one to send him on his way.

As it was, I was curled up on the sofa under a duvet feeling sorry for myself, drifting in and out of consciousness while my boyfriend drank wine.

This column would be coming to you directly from my sick bed, but I dragged myself out of it because it was my weekend to work.

Now before anyone starts emailing and complaining that I have been spreading my germs around I know.

But I have pretty much been confined to the office and my tonsillitis germs are very civilised and don't tend to jump to other people (just former reporter Lyndsay Scanlan).

If they have changed their minds and become more violent and aggressive this year then you might see the size of the Adver shrinking over the next few days as people call in sick.

Apologies in advance, but I'm not the one to blame. I don't know who is, but it's not me. You have to take pity on me, I'm ill.

  • Joke of the week: What do you call a woman who burns her bills?

Bernadette.