Pitter, Patter. Tiny Feet Emerging.

Anyway, I don't want to get too far ahead of myself at this early stage, just in case it emerges with no arms or legs.

Well, I don't know what's going on with the NHS right now at all. Having experienced waiting on hold for what feels like another chapter of my life very slowly passing me by, and a fresh bunch of grey hair in the pre-birth stage while being constantly reminded that I still have the entire population of East Bristol ahead of me in the queue. Then, it could be several months before a call handler picks up.

So, I've given up phoning, and prefer the communication via keyboard option, and hope my online enquiry reaches someone before the Grim Reaper pays me a visit. It will, no doubt, be most if not all the usual suspects holding up the queue with the most urgent of inquiries, such as how to mend their broken washing machine, or following a visit to the fairground in town and eating too much candyfloss wondering how to deal with bright pink vomit.

Possibly even how to remedy a false nail that's fallen off and it no longer matches the remaining nine. You know, issues that are otherwise a mere phone call away from dialling 999, and having all three emergency services visiting their home to rescue them from the ultimate trauma of their life, such as getting their head stuck in the catflap.

So, there I was, trying my best to have a medical professional see me in person through not having enough sleep and my day becoming night, and night becoming day. Nothing too disconcerting, you understand, but enough to warrant a visit, and at the very least, examine the stomach pain that's been ongoing for several weeks, and, by an uncanny stroke of bad luck hasn't aided my otherwise normal sleep pattern at all either.

Anyway, as luck would have it, due to a cancellation I could at least be seen in person by a doctor within a few days, and not have to wait until 2027 after all. Then, having verbally repeated everything I'd written in my request to see my GP to a trainee, she then trotted off to see another doctor in the surgery for a quick consultation and returned with a prescription for anti-depressants. I guess the thinking behind this being that at least I'd be happier about my loss of sleep and aching stomach with a month's supply of Amitryptaline inside me. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

Take two on the first night was the recommendation I adhered to, and much to my surprise, this worked brilliantly! Instead of waking up at 3 am, I managed to wake up at 3.30 am and found myself absolutely delighted by the fact that I'd been left in slumber for thirty minutes longer, and continued for the remainder of the night having no sleep at all, with not one iota of depression about it.

Well, at 10 am I was still happy land, and took a visit to the loo to celebrate my thirty-minute victory, grinning ear to ear as the contents of my stomach emptied in liquid form. After all, what was there not to be happy about? Even though it felt like a whole month had just drifted by while I was in occupation, and I would probably die, still grinning from ear to ear ecstatically in the process. I cannot think of a time when I've felt happier having a bout of the runs, thanks to anti-depressants.

In order to celebrate such a great and joyous event, such as this, I was almost tempted to go online and find a recording of Johnny Cash, singing 'Ring of Fire' to pep me up for the day ahead. You know?

"And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire. The ring of fire."

Then, as if this joyous experience wasn't enough to kickstart my day with gleeful optimism, I would have been tempted to go on a celebratory shopping spree at one of the local 'adult' shops in search of a butt plug to act as a damn against further sudden explosions when out and about, had it not been for the fact that it would have required cementing in place, and time, like my impending visit to every retail lavatory was very short, with much to do when in the city centre around such potential explosions.

Well, as luck would have it, all was good, and, like we do in moments of despair, whether atheist or Christian, we pray to whatever god is up there listening to avert potential fatality, and my recollection of all those prayers I was taught as a boy served me well on this occasion, and I continued my day as dry as a nun's vagina. Which, all things considered, served me well in learning that I was going to become a daddy sometime later this year by one of my ladytribe friends.

Yes, I know, in a previous blog post I said about children, no, not ever, never! Well, it would appear that those little bastard swimmers laying dormant up until now in my ballsack have decided to all out on reaching gold Olympic standard, and in doing so, have taken every available medal on reaching their destination in record-breaking time. Who knew?

Apparently not me until a couple of days ago, in one of those "Oh, by the way" conversations. You know, those "Well, it could be black, potentially brown, unlikely yellow, so more than likely you" moments. To be honest, I was neither surprised or shocked. To me, more like "Ah well, it's just another day in the life of me" - and to be even more honest, nothing else could possibly surprise me all, bar it emerging from the birth canal with webbed feet and an orange beak.

Furthermore, and very much to my own surprise I'm even thinking ahead, and working out how I can attach a towbar to my mobility scooter to tow the baby behind me, given that any pushing of a pushchair would be completely out of the question. I suppose, if it comes to it, I have a box on the back I use for shopping. So, maybe a few holes drilled in it for air and light may resolve any potential health and safety issues, as I can simply lock the infant in while I'm out and about. Quite clearly, I would want to be a responsible father, and so, naturally, these things are important to me, and worthy of all due consideration ahead of time.

I have to say, I'm just so far ahead of the curve on this already I'm becoming quite enthusiastic as to how my scooter can be adapted as multi-purpose really. You know those water bottles they attach to rabbit hutches? Now, bear with me please, as I'm thinking this through as I type. But, I could find the means of attaching a formula milk bottle down from the lid inside to where the baby will be, so when it gets hungry, Bingo! The feed is there and good to go.

Anyway, I don't want to get too far ahead of myself at this early stage, just in case it emerges with no arms or legs, and then I'll have to reconfigure my plans accordingly. So, even though I'm really not into babies and children in general, and have so far over the past few years avidly avoided any potential female with children as a possible partner, and would rather be given an enema three times a day, every day for the remainder of my life, I guess I'm slowly crawling my way around to the idea in this instance, and swinging between complete reluctance and total acceptance.