Month Two, Day One ctd.

Last night, Jack and I drank three pints of ale in the pub. This morning, I woke up feeling great and ready to face the day. I received a scrumptious cheque in the post from the kind people who are publishing the Dutch edition of my second novel, and I was all set to drive to the hell that is Reading and pay it in at HSBC (which, incidentally, sponsors Great British Dramas, of which my overdraft is one, along with the slightly more interesting Pride and Prejudice).

Also in the post, I received the hypnotise-your-eggs-to-conception CD. I waited until Jack was out on the patio saluting the sun with his curious yoga stretching, and played it. Off I went, into a trance, where, among other things, my ovaries were surrounded with golden light and I threw smooth, clear stones into a pond to get rid of the gut feeling I have - supported by no evidence at all - that I can never have a baby.

And then the soothing voice said, 'You will from now on only be attracted to foods that are good for you, that will nourish your child. You will find yourself avoiding alcohol and you will no longer enjoy the feeling of putting toxins into your body.' (NB. She said all this very sloowwwlllyy, buuttt I caaaaann'ttt speeeeellll ittt the waaay sshhhhheeee spppppoooookkkeee because it's bloody boring.)

Once I'd come out of trance, I spent the whole of the rest of the day being sick. Of course, this could be coincidence, but I was fine before I listened to that goddamn woman telling me alcohol would make me ill.

What do you think?