Wednesday 19 February 2014

I’m not going to go into too much detail about what goes on for most of the day (because I do actually keep some stuff private), suffice it to say that I became a father today.

One thing that becomes clear early on during my partner’s labour is that I am going to have to rely on something other than my usual mechanism of (attempted) humour. I offer my partner some feedback on how labour is affecting her but it falls on deaf ears. I tell her:

  • she has become less polite
  • her conversational skills have diminished
  • she is using more swears than normal.

However she ignores me – if only she had ignored me while cussing this would be more of a punchline.

It’s amazing to watch someone cope with what appears to be constant pain. However that my partner does cope with it all makes me think, is this worse than one of my bad hangovers? Because I can’t cope with some of them. Once or twice I have wept with the pain of a headache caused by overindulgence. My partner isn’t weeping. Ergo this can’t be as bad as the pain I have suffered a few times with a hangover: when my hangovers are bad I think myself lucky I don’t have a shotgun.

[I feel obliged to point out that the above paragraph is laced with sarcasm, honestly some people will think I am being serious. I GET THAT CHILDBIRTH IS NOWHERE NEAR AS SERIOUS AS ONE OF MY HANGOVERS.]


There is a sign above the toilet in the labour room we’re in. It says that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should anything other than toilet paper and human stuff be put down the toilet. Under no circumstances? I think that if the lives of hundreds of people were at risk because of a terrorist with a bomb strapped to her could be saved by meeting her demand of flushing a bag of Lego down this very toilet then I would do so.

And what’s more I would be a hero. Sure, I would be banned from the hospital. Perhaps there would be an online protest from people enraged that a silly rule being broken to save HUNDREDS of lives has led to such a ban. However, I would graciously accept the ban. Rules are rules.

For want of a better word, our JOURNEY takes us to theatre, the medical one – not as in “all the world’s a _____”. And as if becoming a father isn’t momentous enough I am informed I will have to wear scrubs. Paging Dr Bridgehouse etc


I dislike it when clichés are true. They are often true and that is why they are clichés. The moment I saw this (below), I did instantly feel different. Hashtag: annoying. Everyone was fucking right.

IMG_5658That there is Woodrow, my son.



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