I receive a bequest!!!

I have never received a bequest before, my relations generally not being part of the monied classes. I closely study the solicitor’s letter in some shock. Obviously I can’t actually understand the letter, but it mentions a figure, and has a cheque attached, so I assume it must be for real.

I pace around a bit. With money comes worries, and I do not want e.g. to be ripped off in the Village Shop by the Village Shop Man dressed as a fake sheikh. My celebrity status also brings the risk of extortion, blackmail etc by those who would forge photographs of me with prostitutes. Fortunately I think of this immediately, and am able to provide an alibi by saying here first that people might forge photographs of me with prostitutes, thus proving that any subsequent photographs of me with prostitutes will be forgeries, especially ugly ones.

I worry about the starving orphans in Africa. Obviously it would be good to help them, but actually raising awareness is much more important, so I resolve to raise some awareness by writing about them in my secret internet diary.

A glimmer of doubt crosses my mind. I look again at the letter, and worry that I might have fallen victim to a practical joke and that Short Tony and Big A will appear suddenly at the window pointing and laughing at me because they have faked the letter and cheque using a D.T.P. system. Either that or my grandmother will jump out saying ‘aha!!! Fooled you, I am not actually dead!!!’

But this does not happen, and I clutch the letter not knowing what to make of things. It has been a strange, wonderful, overwhelming week and I remain at a loss for words.

Continued hiatus.

Thank you for your patience.

Just to keep things going, what do you reckon is the best barnyard animal? (Not including goat)

My baby has arrived!!!

As regular readers know, I do not really ‘do’ personal stuff. A gurl, Servalan, over nine pounds, 36-inch head. Very lovely.

When you become a father your immediate blind reaction is that this is something that has happened to nobody else ever ever in the world ever, and thus you want to tell everybody you know and give them each and every smallest detail about it. So if you haven’t been through it before, all I can say is that it is pretty well exactly like being issued with a parking ticket, or experiencing a sequence of minor yet inconvenient delays on the train.

It is likely that there will be a brief hiatus whilst I get my stuff together. This is, I think, what people say. I have no idea what a ‘hiatus’ actually is, but I would imagine that it is something pretty serious and longwinded, like bronchitis, or a hernia. I am sure I will recover from my hiatus quickly and be back here in a few days. (Bloglines is a good way of being automatically notified, if you like that sort of thing). (So is just sitting there for days on end pressing ‘refresh’).

Thank you to people that have left or sent good wishes, and also to those people who just thought good wishes but did not want to leave a same-old message in the comments box. I got them anyway, via my telepathic powers (which I use only for the side of good (mostly)).

We go to the labour ward.

In the corridor on the way, there is a sign inviting people to volunteer for hospital radio. I have always wanted to be on the radio, emulating my heroes Peel and Lawley, but I don’t have time to look further just now.

Besides, hospital radio has its problems. It is all very well turning up with your cutting edge Cardiacs and Proclaimers stuff but much of it is taking requests from old people to play Phil Collins records. But the main problem is the restraints on what is or what is not appropriate on grounds of sensitivity. You are not allowed to play ‘Light My Fire’ for instance, in case you upset people in the burns unit. Or ‘Don’t go Breaking my Heart’ out of respect to the cardiology patients. Or anything by Gary Numan in case there is anybody who has lost an index finger in a synthesizer accident.

Normally I would just laugh and say something like ‘haha, it is political correctness gone mad,’ but in truth I am a bit stressed by our impending parenthood and do appreciate the hospital making an effort to be so sensitive to patients’ worries.

I settle the LTLP down in her maternity bed, and switch on the ‘Patientline’ bedside TV to relax us.