Calpol, coughing and nunchucks for children

The Calpol truck delivers direct.

That time of year again, Calpol season.
Most parents like to keep a bottle or two around the house.
Not us.
You know those huge tanks that people who live in houses that use oil-fired central heating systems have in their front gardens?
We have one of those, but it doesn't contain fuel.
I'll let you into a secret. Inside is where we keep our Calpol and, right now, it's full to the brim.
Four doses a day? Pah! It's nowhere near enough, not at times like this, not in Calpol season.
Right now, it's The G needing it the most for she's a little unwell.
Nothing serious, just routine stuff, cough and cold, temperature and tiredness.
Last night it disturbed her sleep to the extent that she ended up in with us. That might not sound that unusual but here it's unheard of, our two having never been great bed sharers.
Her poorliness apart, it was quite nice, although once or twice in her sleep she emitted a bloodcurdling shriek, right into my ear, from a range of just two or three inches.
Still, she seemed a little better this morning, especially after a Calpol-based breakfast and bonus Ibuprofen for elevenses.
Seeking distraction, we headed out to the opening of a new toy shop, something of a miscalculation given that every family within a 25-mile radius had had the same idea.
Think Al's Toy Barn from Toy Story 2, but filled with tracksuits, tattoos and tantrums, the masses doing battle to snatch the best pre-Christmas bargains, children everywhere, toys littering the aisles, abandoned babies, chaos.
It didn't do a lot to make The G feel better, it has to be said.
Indeed, on our return home, I felt the need to join her in a little lunchtime Calpol.
Good job the tank had just been filled.

Your fake muscles are no match for me............

There's not much that I dislike more than those horrible Spiderman dressing-up costumes.
The ones that have the muscles sewn into the arms and chest, I mean.

They're awful things.

Flicking through the Christmas catalogue from the aforementioned shop a little earlier, I was surprised to find that the costumes in question cost £19.99.

On the same page, I noticed a rather stylish ninja suit, £6.99, bargain.

Reading the description beneath said suit I came across the brilliant line nunchucks not included. 

To me, that begs an obvious question: 

Where does one go to purchase nunchucks for their children these days?