Your correspondent is delighted to announce to all friends of Peter that Angela Mulholland has, after nine months, has not only thoughtfully provided Shteeeeve with a son and heir, but has done so within the boundaries of Cambridge courtesy of the maternity unit at Adenbrookes, which has got to be worth double points.
For those of you who like to know the pertinent facts relating to issue, Paul James Mulholland was born at 2.04am on 9th January 2008, weighing in at 8lbs exactly, and entered this world without recourse to the Anglo-Saxon dialect, gas or air by Mrs Shteeeeve. Shteeeve had a good swear and plenty of gas, mind you, and even managed to cut the cord. Who says men are useless in these situations?
Ever the gentleman, the finer points of the birth were glossed over, but it may amuse readers to recall that last time I was in Adenbrookes, I came out with five stiches. I had been impaled on a fleur-de-lys style capital atop railing outside Trinity Master’s Garden whilst trying to gatecrash our 5th garden party of the day on Suicide Sunday in 1997, and was unsurprisingly fried to the tonsils at the time. I seem to recall suggesting to the staff in casualty that I though I had broken my leg, which a scan proved to be a figment of my drink addled imagination, although they were rather upset that an ambulance had been called for me at the time. Let us all hope Angela has fared better on her visit to Adenbrokes, and may we once again offer our congratulations to Shteeeeeve and Angela on the birth of Paul. Arsenal baby-grows and red and white knitted bobble hats can be sent to the usual address in the rural fenlands of Chez Mulholland.
For those of you who like to know the pertinent facts relating to issue, Paul James Mulholland was born at 2.04am on 9th January 2008, weighing in at 8lbs exactly, and entered this world without recourse to the Anglo-Saxon dialect, gas or air by Mrs Shteeeeve. Shteeeve had a good swear and plenty of gas, mind you, and even managed to cut the cord. Who says men are useless in these situations?
Ever the gentleman, the finer points of the birth were glossed over, but it may amuse readers to recall that last time I was in Adenbrookes, I came out with five stiches. I had been impaled on a fleur-de-lys style capital atop railing outside Trinity Master’s Garden whilst trying to gatecrash our 5th garden party of the day on Suicide Sunday in 1997, and was unsurprisingly fried to the tonsils at the time. I seem to recall suggesting to the staff in casualty that I though I had broken my leg, which a scan proved to be a figment of my drink addled imagination, although they were rather upset that an ambulance had been called for me at the time. Let us all hope Angela has fared better on her visit to Adenbrokes, and may we once again offer our congratulations to Shteeeeeve and Angela on the birth of Paul. Arsenal baby-grows and red and white knitted bobble hats can be sent to the usual address in the rural fenlands of Chez Mulholland.
No comments:
Post a Comment