Son. I have a son.
After a rather nonchalant beginning, kicking around for a couple of hours while Beloved's contractions went from 'need a rub' to 'volume=11', a Little Man made an entrance, casually pushing through in about 5, gritting, grunting contractions.
Sunrise over the city behind us and Ben Harper warbling softly in the air.
I took a Cublet as he came out, kissed his messy little mop of velous hair, then passed him to a very satisfied looking mum.
It's a beautiful day.
Who needs Simon Schama? - Let's face it, there's nothing the BBC likes better than to send bespectacled history boffins out into the fields to stomp around in the mud, to frown port...
1 hour ago