How to ensure a good night's sleep...

So...I've finally worked out how you get a decent nights kip. All you have to do is take your baby in for an operation...knock 'em out with a tonne of anaesthetic and away you go. They actually sleep like...well...a baby. And this makes alot of sense - there was a guy I knew at work who swore his grandparents used to put his dad to sleep by waving his head over the gas fire and giving him a quick whiff. I dunno about that though - sounds a little bit fishy to me. I hasten to add - the fire wasn't actually lit at the time - I mean - that would be just plain stupid.

So Thursday was a pretty stressful day really - carrying the little one over the sky bridge linking the two parts of the hospital...handing him over to the theatre staff. It goes against all your natural instincts.

There's only so much loitering you can do in a hospital just outside the theatre before they call security. So the wife and I headed downstairs for a cuppa and the nicest slice of toast I've ever had. It's like they soaked the toast overnight in sunshine and warm butter. Holy crap it tasted good. And the marmite - 25p for a portion the size of a gnats arse - but it was worth it. I need to invest in marmite shares some day. Seriously - it'd be worth my while. As long as I take my annual share pay outs in product.

We tried distracting ourselves by reading the Sun - it seems that there are plots to remove Page 3 "models" from the Sun if the Lib Dems get into power...this could turn out to be the decisive factor for the electorate. And Gordon - poor old bumble Brown - you can't call an old granny a bigot. It's just wrong on so many levels.

I had visions of Malcolm Tucker storming into the press office and literally ripping the head off the nearest person within reach. F*ck filled phone calls to Gordon telling him to get his sorry arse over to the bigot grannies house pronto to clean up the mess. "If the election was a colostomy bag of filth - you just filled it to the brim and f*cked it! You sick perverted scottish dwarf!" Sadly he doesn't exist - so we'll just have to make do with our imaginations.

Oh to be a fly on the wall...

Anyway - I was still on my fist sip of tea when they came to get us. The little one was coming round...is it bad to want to finish your cup of tea? Still - I did the right thing - downed it in one and we raced back to Theatre - wild with giddy delight that all was well. Why were we even worried in the first place - what could possibly go wrong? (Hmmm - hospitals are never a good place to go over the fine print before you sign the disclaimer for your son's operation!)

A few blood soaked tears (literally) from the baby - but apart from that - he was in fine form. Within half an hour he was rattling the metal poles on the NHS cot like a lifer in Strangeways - smacking his cup of milk along the bars and hollering at the other kids. Never has the sound of a gurgling screaming baby throwing random toys out the cot felt so reassuring.

Tom Arnold's Dumb Luck? The Arnold's great luck! With this kind of seamless form - no doubt England will win the world cup and I will be able to retire by this time next year...well - we can always dream eh?!