Who would have thought that in my mid-forties, I’d be buying a pregnancy testing kit? In the car, on the way home from the supermarket, I feel a bit strange. My husband bet me £20 that I was suffering from some kind of hormonal imbalance; in other words, that I was starting the menopause. Yes, much more likely, I thought in horror. But I wasn’t ready for the “hot flush” scenario.
When we got home, we stood among the shopping bags, observing closely as a vebright, spirited, pink dot appeared. I was 46 and up the duff. In a daze, my husband stepped over the groceries and bolted into the garden for a fag. I sat down, regretting yesterday’s whisky and Coke, and concluding that