24/12/2012 11:01 GMT | Updated 23/02/2013 05:12 GMT

Out of the Blue and Into the Pink

- continuing diary of an accidental mother - Week 25

It's official the Interloper has the Glam Rocker's nose.

"Oh well," I said, "none of us are perfect."

It was take two on the twenty-week scan.

The Glam Rocker passed me a filthy look then declared the child a boy because of its unbelievably gigantic penis - otherwise known as the umbilical cord.

We had chosen to stick with good old-fashioned surprise and did not care to know the sex of our unborn child. Friends were aghast, "Accidental Mum," they cried, "But... but... how will you know what colour to paint the nursery?"

I was not the sort interested in creating gender specific interiors. Indeed if it's a girl, I hoped do my utmost to protect it from the proselytising pink brigade.

Back in the day when Woolworths was alive and well, my son had two entire 'Blue Aisles' of toys to choose from. The range and scope were inspiring, a million things to build stories upon, to do, make, invent, create, and escape into.

Fact no. 1. It wasn't until my 30s I realised I had a talent for architectural construction in miniature. I love Lego (there I've said it).

Then there was the 'Pink Aisle'. Don't get me started on the pink aisle. I'm a little bit rabid about the pink aisle. I'll bore you - suffice to say I don't do pink. If the Interloper is a girl, there will be a careful vetoing of toys reinforcing the idea a women's worth is dependent on her looks, or that catering to the needs of men is the only way forward (basically, all toys on the pink aisle).

Notwithstanding the above feminist leanings, vis a vis a nursery, I lacked one. The Interloper would be slumming it with Mum for the first part of its life and the Glam Rocker too, when he came off tour.

This week my days were spent 'Kissing'. Just because I'm anti pink doesn't mean I'm unromantic.. Another film idea hatched into existence. Documentary maker Louise Hooper shot Lip Service, a short film about kissing. The Interloper did not escape notice. The pregnant belly in the film belongs to yours truly and the Glam Rocker can be identified kissing it...


Nights mirrored days and were full on. The Glam Rocker and I did a spot of hob knobbing with the stars at a cancer charity event then later attended the after party at the Playboy club where the girls dress as bunnies.

Given my above feminist leanings was I offended?

Well in my ideal world things would be more even, especially on nights out and in such establishments. There would be bunny boys as well as girls. What fun it would be to have a smattering of great looking guys employed to serve and flex muscles upon request, ensuring all the shelf bound ladies/older ladies/single ladies/pregnant ladies/mums, basically all female folk felt great, sexy, powerful and most importantly that a fresh hot ass was but a few affordable drinks away.

Fair is fair eh...?

The next night I caught up with a friend Rachel Khoo who has shot to superstardom. She has a best selling book, a TV series and the most red, lush lips ever. To think she used to lodge with me and babysit BoyWonder. To think we were her petit gateau guinea pigs, although I do remember one occasion when she blew up the microwave.

The week ended in Soho at the Groucho club. The smell of sex, money and power pervaded this hedonistic hustlers heaven. Here we were all of us bunnies hoping to nibble the dangling carrot of opportunity. People were out to quaff champagne, flash cash, flout flesh and have a good time.

I was out to source cake. I love cake. The Interloper loves cake. My drug was cake. I did not need to run to the toilet to imbibe anything more illicit than sugar. Sugar was my white powder.

We were at a birthday party and the cake was huge, a huge shelf of sweet iced sponge.

I couldn't wait until the moment when the candles were blown out. Then after two helpings (the Glam Rocker's and my own) I came over all Oliver, "Please sir can I have some more..."

And it occurred, what with my lips smeared in pink frosting... that I was forced to eat my own words.

Who was I trying to kid?

I love pink.


Knock ... who's there?

Twenty-five weeks into your pregnancy your baby's hands and startle reflex are developing. Your baby might be able to respond to familiar sounds, such as your voice, with movement.