How did it get to be so biblical? I’m a Londoner. How did I find myself up to the neck in muck and bullocks? All this relentless begetting and now twins.
When you are a matriarch, people start complaining about your money. The twins were the last straw. I offered Tom and Natasha a stained-glass window in St Stephen’s to celebrate the birth of their twins … perhaps a couple of cherubim bursting out of veg boxes … something tasteful like that. What happens? Helen goes into one of her sulks because I didn’t offer her children a window as well. (Though, frankly, the less said about those two the better. I’ve been holding my breath waiting for their fathers, a sperm donor and an abusive husband, to turn up any day now.)
