Baby's age: -203 days

Being pregnant is tiring. Travelling in particular gets to me, and some days when I get in from work I just want to curl up and sleep. That’s not allowed today; it’s my birthday and we’re going out for dinner in 45 minutes. Thankfully the sickness has pretty much finished for today, and I should be alright as long as I don’t eat too much.

I don’t feel awful all the time, anymore. But I do throw up regularly, when my stomach is empty first thing in the morning. Sometimes I think that’s just a manifestation of anxiety and nothing to do with pregnancy hormones at all. Yesterday I definitely had a moodswing, though.

I’m getting noticeably fatter, which might be down to eating and lack of exercise – obviously we’ve given up playing squash, and I haven’t thought of anything sensible to replace it yet. I suppose I ought to start swimming. We’re at 11 weeks today, and the first scan is next Monday, and then I’ll be able to start telling people [okay - more people; the discreet handful of people in the know is already quite large, because needs must and sometimes I have to explain quite why I am looking so dreadfully ill. It's hard to resist].

With a week left of the first trimester, my cautious optimism is quite strong. I haven’t thought hard about the possibility of the scan revealing problems; what is the point of worrying about it in advance?

Baby's age: -215 days

Porridge is wonderful. It’s the only thing I’ve managed to keep down today, and I just know it’s packed with protein and calcium, as well as being loaded with fibre that might just sort out some of my internal woes.

But enough about porridge. The sickness continues, on and off. When it’s on, it’s badly on. When it’s off, I get anxious about disappearing symptoms, and then of course it comes back. Last Friday I purchased a pair of sea bands for £7.99 from Boots.

The sea bands are grey lycra wristbands with large plastic baubles on the inside, which you wear half-way down your wrist. They make little round bruises after a while, which distracts you from feeling ill.

Of course I don’t believe in acupressure – what hokey-pokey! But Saturday was a good day: lots of energy, no sickness. On Sunday I felt lousy, and on Monday I decided that I wasn’t feeling sick enough. This coupled with backache convinced me that the end was nigh. The backache has now gone, the sickness is back with a vengeance, and the unscientific nature of sea bands is bothering me.

You see, the nature of the sickness has changed. I don’t feel ill all the time now, but I do throw up more. This is easier to live with than feeling ill all the time, but I have no experimental control, so I can’t tell if the sea bands are making a difference, or I have just got used to it, or I am managing my diet better (don’t think it’s that), or even if I have got my dates wrong, and the sickness is naturally ending because I’m actually 13 weeks, not 9.

Oh, that porridge was so good.

This IBM machine was the key to WOOC(P)’s reputation, for it enabled us to have files of information around which no-one could correlate except with the machine set the correct way. For instance, a list of three hundred names meant nothing, a list of three hundred house numbers meant nothing, a list of three hundred street names, cities, and a pile of photos meant nothing. On the machine and suddenly – each photo had an address. On the machine again and thirty cards were rejected, and only Dalby knew whether those thirty were left-handed pistol shots, Young Conservatives, or bricklayers fluent in Mandarin.

The Ipcress File, by Len Deighton

3/5

This morning’s Saturday Kitchen has only just started, and a major cross-contamination incident has already been perpetrated by guest chef Paul Rankin.

Chef Rankin is preparing a guinea fowl dish, which he recommends as a christmas dinner for two – such a tempting idea. Having prepared the raw bird on a wooden chopping board, stuffing crushed garlic and sprigs of thyme loosely into the cavity, he throws it enthusiastically into a heavy-based pan of sizzling butter, and then transfers it to a hot oven.

He then proceeds to wipe down the board with a tea-towel, and then wipes his hands on it for good measure. The next shot is of him and AWT poking a bowl of wild mushrooms with those self-same raw poultry contaminated fingers.

But it’s not too late! After all, the mushrooms are going to be thoroughly cooked, and he may yet switch that wooden chopping board for a clean one… And here’s one he prepared earlier: a succulent little guinea fowl, fresh from the oven… and straight on to the chopping board. Cooked poultry is now being handled with the raw poultry hands. Chef Rankin tops up his unfriendly bacteria by wiping his hands on the evil tea-towel, and starts to dismember the cooked bird.

I have two recommendations:

• Colour-coded chopping boards. This is not a new concept; where has Chef Rankin been for the last 20 years, that he has managed not to learn a thing about cross-contamination? And AWT should know better, since his faithful and adoring viewers call into the show every time this happens. His chunky wooden chopping boards give a lovely homely cooking-is-simple feel to the show, but still don’t convey the importance of good food hygiene practices.
• Paper towels: wipe once and dispose. This is one area in which I do not advocate reuse and recycle.

I should not have to be lecturing such people about food hygiene; won’t somebody please think of the children?

I have a cavity. I haven’t had a check-up in 15 years, so I’m pretty relaxed about that; the dentist did say that I had very good teeth. Damn right I do; that’s why I don’t go to the dentist.

Back in the days when Mum gave us lollies after trips to the dentist, I’m sure they did the work along with the check-up, rather than having you make another appointment to get your cavities filled; it was a long time ago, mind you – I could be quite wrong. The Swedish Dentist talked me out of the free NHS metal filling, which contains mercury; he says they stopped doing these in Sweden in 1997, so it’s obviously very uncool, like not owning an Ikea coffee table.

Does it hurt, having a filling? I can’t remember.