Gluttony.

'You're just a northern wanker who can't take his beer.' 

It was daytime

Hot jiggery – here’s some news from Martijno world.

The future has arrived. It must have if I am finding myself sending the first multiple recipient internet letter of my life. Tomorrow’s world didn’t know the half of it! Apart from the personal hovercopters and wall to wall monorails I was led to expect my 21^st century to be littered with, many other things have come to fruition. The triumph of Plastic socks has prevailed for example, testament to which is borne out by the fact that a couple of bri-nylon gussets are currently strangling my ankles just as Norman Mailer predicted they would; added to which, I am being fed on dietary supplements delivered by a thermo nuclear dumb waiter like we’re all onboard the starship enterprise, having abandoned the good ship Marie Celeste for warmer climes. (Well, perhaps not so much emphasis should be attached to the supplements but take my advice and go all-new-wool when it comes to footwear.) Then, there’s the other raft of technological advances. Look at me ma! I’m on you tube! Look at me ma! I’m on skype! Look at me ma, my mobile phone and computer are being tracked by the CIA and I’m getting photographed 68 times a day by my freedom espousing government. Then there’s the ancient cycle of eternal rites. Look at me ma! I’m nearly 46. What a time to go and be having a baby! :-0 Whooooaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!

Which is my roundabout (circumlocutory - nay elliptical) way of saying that Natasha and I most certainly are up the duff boys and girls. Demarcation comes heavily into play at this stage of the proceedings as one would expect. Mostly Natasha is looking after the biological side of things and I’m doing all the other imperative hoo ha like choosing toasters and writing languorous poems, which I expect every body to contemptuously dismiss, about the joys of fatherhood. Maybe our dear child will be a boy or maybe even…let’s see now, a girl? Who knows? Neither of us needs to know it seems. Can anyone think of a good reason to know in advance? Healthy and bouncing and with the shining light of reason in his/her bonny Anglo-Russian fizzog will do us brilliantly. Half boy half reindeer might be another interesting configuration, just please God be healthy is all we ask.

We are taking this forthcoming event in our stride. Good humouredly affable Chelobeks that we are. All you need to do to make Natasha laugh is to say words such as khaki or kiwi or perdition which apparently sound hysterical to a Russian person.