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We went to hospital to check out the maternity unit where my wife will be giving birth. Fittingly it is the same hospital that features in the film Sliding Doors. If I was organising the maternity ward tour I would definitely put that in at the end. “And here is the very lift that John Hannah and Gwyneth Paltrow get into at the denouement of the worst film ever made in human history.” But they don’t put it in because they are more concerned with reassuring expectant parents that their facilities are up to scratch. But it would serve as a useful metaphor for the uncertainty of the future. Just think that if you get a lift or miss a lift then your life can turn out very differently, well isn’t that a bit like birth? Oh hold on, no it isn’t. Sorry. If only life was so fucking simplistic.
Anyway, here’s another life tip for you. Want your hands sanitised? Don’t waste money on expensive hand sanitiser or soap. Just go to your local hospital. They have little dispensers giving it out for free all over the place. I got three lots of it and didn’t pay a penny. I think that was the take home lesson for today. While my wife is giving birth I am going to get loads of it. I might even take a bottle in with me.
Or I might do a “Sliding Doors” tour whilst I am waiting for my wife to give birth. For only £50 I will take you to the lift that I think is the one from the film. And you can sanitise your hands as many time as you like. But even so you will not be able to wash away the memory of having seen Sliding Doors.
We heard new born babies crying in their cots. It’s the most beautiful sound. I am certain I could never tire of hearing it. About seven weeks to go still. This baby is taking its sweet fucking time. And I still don’t really believe it’s really happening. I suspect I am being punk’d.
This year’s Light Entertainment Radio party was being held at the top of Centrepoint this afternoon. Usually it’s at Broadcasting House (though in the old days it used to be at the lovely Paris studios - in London confusingly), but apparently the BBC were charging the BBC too much to hold it there, so instead the BBC went and spent the BBC’s money somewhere else. Which is, if you think about it, for 3 seconds, fucking ridiculous. And quite a wonderful waste of your licence fee. Seriously, I know everything has its department now, but do you think it might be worth having a department for common sense? Someone should write a sitcom about that… oh.
Still, amazing views across London and it felt a bit like the start of Die Hard, so it was lovely and Christmassy. Luckily Alan Rickman didn’t turn up or it might have been a bit too freaky. But Nicholas Parsons was still there, just as he was back in the early 90s at my first ever one. Still going strong. David Nobbs and Barry Cryer (smoking a fag on the steps outside) were also there. But less senior figures than there used to be for some reason. Until I looked in a mirror and realised that I was now one of the old ones. In my suit and tie.
To some (like Patrick Marber who said “Radio is where you begin and end your career”) still going along to the BBC Radio LE party would be seen as a sign of failure, but I feel oddly comforted by continuing to be a part of this. And proud. Perhaps I am not ambitious enough. Or maybe I am just ambitious enough.
Certainly this is the only show business party that I have been to that is not full of cunts. Not looking forward to the days when Patrick Marber will be back here.
I managed to keep a lid on the boozing and left early so that I could be in a fit state for a baby breastfeeding class this evening. I feel a bit short changed that I am not able to lactate, partly because I’d like to have a ready supply of free milk, but it would also be cool to have that kind of bond with my baby. But my useless nipples and empty dugs mean I will never have the joy of chafed nipples (for that reason at least). Producing milk also burns up 500 calories a day, though I suspect if I had my own supply of milk I would put that back on and more as I scoffed at it all day long. There’ll always be milk.
Come on Rich. It’s not the 1990s any more. But I want it to be. I want it to be.
You know what you want…..?
