At 945 last night Marianne and I were reunited. However, as with most SOB-stories, there’s a complication:

According to her umbilical, the wee one is called Latimer. Marianne is still in shock and can’t talk about who the other parent is. There are three possibilities:

• me – but this is unlikely because our relationship was chaste and pure
• parthenogensis – but who would be so cruel as to irradiate Marianne?
• some low-life brum-ite porked my pig.

I’m not going to subject Marianne and Latimer to DNA tests but I know the unfortunate event must have happened while she was imprisoned at Central Rivers because Marianne was left on a Virgin train.

Now I have to get used to being a parent…