2005-04-25 - 10:11 p.m.

As much as you might hate The Sun, being their headline writer must be amongst one of the best jobs on the planet, especially when you read that the headlines rejected on the news of the new Pope (Actual one used = Papa Razi!) included my personal favourite �Heil Mary� and �It�s the Hun What Won It�. I would like to work there for a day before then ritually disembowelling myself in the editor�s office.

This lunchtime I was in the stationery shop buying my 409th �I really, honestly am over the codding moon that you�re knocked up yet again� card of the year. A girl wandered up to her friend, who was stood next to me. The girl was brandishing a rubber chicken, which the shop apparently sells for those occasions when nothing else will really do.

�Shall we get this for Dora?�

�Why?� her friend asked. Not unreasonably, I thought.

�To remind her of her dead chicken!� cackled the callous poultry-monger as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

No, I couldn�t imagine the situation, either.

But yeah. Seriously, the acquaintance procreation situation is getting out of control. Could my immediate circle stop rutting just for a few months, do you think? I need to take on a second job just to cover my chuffing baby gift expenditure. I got tax bills to pay, people � just lay off the continuance of the species for a while, no? The team�s not short of players, here, just in case you didn�t notice.

Oh, and in having sandpaper for the inside of my eyelids news, I wish that hospital check up would roll around quickly because I�m fed up of planning my blinking in advance.