"Gordon seems very pleased when I tell him about the baby. He turns from his laptop screen for at least a full second to smile and grunt - a bit like the conception really. I'm feeling rather let down by his reaction, go off to my room to cry and eat cement with salad cream.

I awake from a short seven hour nap, Gordon is by my side. He tells me he is excited about the birth and asks when is the baby due? November, I tell him. 'When exactly?' he presses me, producing a diary. I tell him it's too difficult to say with a first child, possibly the third week in November. Gordon shakes his head, "I'll need more detail than that, can I hold you to say the twentieth?" He tells me that he's got Bonn on Monday that week and Washington on the Wednesday.

Gordon has time off so we take a trip to Mothercare to look at clothes for Baby. It gets a bit embarrassing after a while with Gordon looking at price tags on baby clothes and muttering "Jesus Christ look at the price of this stuff", loudly. Manager asks us to leave.

Gordon spends the afternoon designing a nappy out of old newspapers, suggests I start saving up old copies of The Times to stock up supplies. I suggest that Gordon should go and fuck himself, the insensitive prick. Gordon goes in the huff and spends the evening bringing his Raith Rovers scrapbook up to date. I take a short twelve-hour nap, wake refreshed and eat the cat…."