Ready for blast off
The house has never been more sorted out. You can walk in straight lines from a to b. There are no piles of washing, extraneous cables, cobwebs or rogue pasta swirls crunching under foot on the kitchen floor. We are ready to receive a baby.
The last remaining room to be sorted out was the cupboard under the stairs. We got everything out, had arguments about the difference between what things are worth and what they cost (old dresses are not worth £300, they cost £300, they are only worth £300 if someone is prepared to pay £300 for them) and threw away 38 bottles of booze (mostly free wine they give away with at the Chinese takeaway). The kitchen was a mess of ironing boards, laptop bags, paint pots and videos which had things like “Dirty Dancing – do not erase” written on the side.
At this point Emma announced that she was having an ‘unusual twinge’. I pleaded for her to not go into labour because a) there was junk everywhere and b) giving birth in the cupboard under the stairs would present a raft of unique problems not considered at the ante natal class.
“It’ll be fine”, she said, “Jesus was born in a stable”.
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