Why Can't Parents Dance? Is

I'm Never Going To Believe A Poirot Mystery Again. Never. All Those Witnesses Going, "yes, I Remember It Was 3:06 P.m. Exactly, Because I Glanced At The Clock As I Reached For The Sugar Tongs, And Lady Favisham Was Quite Clearly Sitting On The Right-hand Side Of The Fireplace." Bollocks. They Have No Idea Where Lady Favisham Was, They Just Don't Want To Admit It In Front Of Poirot. I'm Amazed He Gets Anywhere.

We Both Gaze Down At My Swollen Tummy For A While. I Still Can't Quite Get My Head Round The Fact That There's A Baby Inside My Body. Which Has Got To Come Out... Somehow. Ok, Let's Not Go There. There's Still Time For Them To Invent Something.

I'm Allergic To Family Occasions. Sometimes I Think We'd Do Better As Dandelion Seeds-no Family, No History, Just Floating Off Into The World, Each On Our Own Piece Of Fluff.

Becky! Love!" Mum Has Pushed Her Way Through Her Dancing Guests To Reach Me. "what's Wrong? Has Labor Started?" Honestly. My Family Has No Idea About Contemporary Urban Street Dance Trends.

It Really Is The Year 2007. Which Means I Must Be... Oh My God. I'm Twenty-eight. I'm Old.