Here goes then...

Whipps Cross Hospital's been having a devil of a time over the last couple of weeks.

There's been an outbreak of the norovirus (aka the winter vomiting bug - that says it all, really) which spread quickly, which closed first three wards, then four, which meant Homerton Hospital had to warn people away from A and E, which meant lots of calls and checks and updates.

Nasty though it is, the norovirus isn't deadly - but it is extremely contagious. It can spread just by touching a contaminated surface or even by breathing in the air surrounding someone who's incubating the bug but doesn't know it. So once one person catches it and then brings it with them to hospital, it goes round like the proverbial wildfire.

Fortunately, things seem to be calming down now - at least one of the wards has reopened and the rest were due to open today - but one can only imagine what would have happened if it had got any worse.

This week has been pretty laden with bad news, as it happens. A mother found guilty of the manslaughter of her three-month-old son has been sentenced to five years in jail, following a serious case review into the child's death and an inquest has revealed that a 25-year-old father-to-be died of a heroin overdose.

The story of the gang of youths who raped a vulnerable teenage girl and then doused her in caustic soda has also come back to the fore as those found guilty are to be sentenced on Monday.

As such, levity in the office has been at a premium. It's stories like these that test the mettle of even the most hardened journo and it's difficult to keep a level head in such circumstances. Putting a brave face on things, therefore, is absolutely necessary - and that means some downright bizarre banter.

From tea sweats to office fashion choices to the finer points of breakfast dining, it's all been discussed over the last few days, if for no other reason than to preserve our sanity.

Finally, to add a slightly lighter note to this week's proceedings, I have been informed that I am too mean - whether genuinely so or otherwise is unclear - to the point that FCR has instituted a mean jar. This is like swear jar, except it's not a jar, it's a plastic cup and instead of putting money in every time I swear, I'm supposed to put money in every time I say something sarcastic.

Thus far, I've escaped having to put anything in, but I have my suspicions as to FCR's true motives...