On the other hand, I could have done without all the guff in yesterday’s press about the “risks” that Mrs Cameron is running as an “elderly mother” of, er, 38. My own elderly mother had me when she was not far short of her 45th birthday and, while I don’t think it did her a power of physical good, she always claimed that having a young child in middle age was a rejuvenating experience. Meanwhile my “elderly” wife managed to produce a healthy child last year when she was … well, it would be indelicate to reveal her age to the world on the internet, obviously, but it was the same number as the Newcastle trolleybus that used to run from Denton Road Terminus to Benton Road, Swarland Ave via Jesmond Road rather than Shields Road, and it was not too far short of 39.
Just think how the odds were stacked against our son. The last of my dodgy old sperm limping towards her Fallopian tubes, hunched over its zimmer frame and wheezing horribly, and by some total miracle making successful contact with one of her dodgy old eggs. You’d expect the product to make Terry Fuckwitt out of Viz look like Brad Pitt. But instead you end up with someone who looks like this: