2006-03-14 - 4:32 p.m.

So I spent Sunday in a room with nine babies. And on purpose, too. It was the first birthday party of the daughter of two of my good friends, and the last time I went to one of those I got perhaps the most drunk I have ever been in my life and had quite a shockingly modern bout of what I believe is termed casual sex with a fellow attendee of the childless adult variety, so I figured what the hell.

Actually, this was much more sedate, though I did plough into the champagne a bit vigorously, but it was only to dull the edges of the hangover from the night before, so purely medicinal in my book.

My book also points out that nine is a hell of a lot of babies. Outside of feeding times of mammals with the requisite number of teats, there�s no reason for that number of infants to be in one enclosed space. I think the couple may still be finding eight-month olds down the back of the couch. I was hoping we could at least make them have races or see which could do the most avant-garde projectile vomiting, but they were all well behaved and kind of normal, which is very unkind considering some of us are in a corner getting squiffy and trying to be cynical.

I knew it was probably time to leave, or at least stop drinking, and therefore have to leave immediately, when I caught myself thinking that perhaps one day I might even consider the possibility of toying with the remote chance of maybe remotely theorising about the development of the concept of imagining what it might be like to think about having one myself. I know. It�s a bit worrying. Plus, of course, you need a date first, so it�s all the stuff of a madman�s dreams in any case. I recovered quickly, you�ll be gad to hear.