Write Like A Diva: contestant #4.

(Click here to view the rules of the game.)


I could tell K was feeling grumpy the moment he sat down to breakfast. Just one glance in the new full length mirror we’d bought at IKEA last weekend would have assured him that Paul Smith pyjamas could never, ever be seen with that fabulous dressing gown number he’d picked up for a song in Marrakesh last year.

(Thailand was always our main little holiday love-nest in the past, but darlings – it’s just so dangerous these days, what with tsumamis and disgraced former pop stars and so on. A boy doesn’t know who he’s rubbing shoulders with on the beach any more.)

So no – it’s Marrakesh for us… ever since we fell in love with The Man Who Knew Too Much – you know that movie with the divine Doris Day and James Stewart. Oh – you can never go wrong with Technicolor!

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, concerned – as I poured him a cup of delicious steaming Fair Trade Organic Arabica.

“Oh, I don’t know, mike,” he replied, looking more and more crestfallen. “Do you ever get the idea that life’s lost some of its zing these days? That the only zest we see is when you grate a lemon?”

I sat back, and pretended to do my Guardian Crossword. When K is like this there’s no telling what might come up. Even after he’d crashed out of the house en route to his office, and Molly the housekeeper had cleared the breakfast crocks (two years ago from Harvey Nick’s spring sale) – I could still sense his looming, brooding presence around the house.

What was up? What mystery might the day hold yet? Idly I glanced through my wardrobe, fingering my favourite shirts… thinking back to that fabuloso “shirt off my back” project. How we’d laughed! How the punters had flocked to play! Some of the shirts are looking a little threadbare now, I decided. Oxfam time, maybe.

“Will that be all, sir?” Molly shouted from the kitchen. “My youngest’s got a doctor’s appointment in twenty minutes, and if it’s OK with you I’d like to be at the surgery with her…”

“Yes, sure, Molly – I replied, distracted. “Take as much time as you like. There’s nothing urgent about here today.”

So she left. Another one looking concerned. Empty house now. Even the mobile had no messages. Oh, there were a few spam emails… viagra this, cialis that, my mortgage application already approved… but apart from that sweet rien.

Trisha was on the telly and I knew I shouldn’t – but hey! If she’s good enough for la Burchill, then she’s certainly good enough for me. “Why have I got two daddies?” was the title of today’s show, and I sat in front of it entranced – fascinated by this new-style family. Son. Daughter. Dad. And Dad.

The revelation, when it came, hit me like a tsunami. “That’s it!” I screamed. “That’s it! That’s exactly what K and I need… now where the f**k do we get a family?”


Well, all that was nine months ago, and only yesterday we were delighted to take delivery of the sweetest baby girl you ever did see. Kylie Louise we’ve decided on. That’ll give her some choice when she grows up. You truly can get anything you want in Marrakesh. We mixed our sperm, you see – so in a very true sense she belongs to both of us.

Next year we’re going to try for another one! And watching Trisha like that was my gayest ever thing.

Now excuse me folks while I go and make up a lovely CD of nursery rhymes and lullabies for Kylie Louise. (Just between you and me – I want her to grow up more like this daddy than the other one! )


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