Ben Elton - Inconceivable

Dear Book

The Livin’ Large story was in all the papers on Sunday (PM humbled by child) and they’re still carrying it today. I’ve been named in every single article, of course. Despite me issuing a very clear statement, nobody believes that I didn’t set it all up. It’s just too convenient what with the girl being my niece and all. The papers tried to go after Kylie as well, but I’d guessed they would and told Emily that if Kylie said even one word to the press Emily would no longer be my sister. Kylie is now house grounded with the curtains drawn until it blows over.

I did not go in to work today and took the phone off the hook. I really am in very deep shit and I don’t want to talk to Lucy about it because she has enough on her mind. Funny how writing this book has actually ended up as a sort of therapy for me, although it has nothing to do with having kids.

Dear Penny

I feel terribly sorry about Sam’s travails but despite that I also feel curiously centred and at one, almost elated. I know I must not get my hopes up, but I do definitely feel different. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being positive, is there? I don’t want to suppress or fight whatever may or may not be happening in my body with negative thinking. I’m sure that mental attitude has enormous power over the physical self. And I do feel differently this month. I don’t know why, but I do. Who knows…?

Sam seems to think he’s going to lose his job but if only I could be pregnant I wouldn’t mind about us being poor or anything. I’d live in one room. I wouldn’t care, not if I had a baby. Sam always says, “Ha!” when I say things like that and of course I know he’s right. Nobody wants to be poor and live in just one room, but if all we have would buy me a baby I’d spend it tomorrow.

Dear Book

Lucy keeps going on about not caring about being poor, only about getting pregnant. She says she’d happily see us with nothing as long as we have a child. The problem is that we’re probably going to have nothing whether we have a child or not. Penniless and infertile would be a lot to take, I think. On the other hand, Lucy seems very certain that it’s going to work this time. She really has started to believe in the power of positive thinking. She’s even said that if it’s a girl she’ll call it Primrose. I hope she’s right. She does look glowing.

Actually if it does work I’ll get her to do some positive thinking about me keeping my job.

Penny

My period started this morning.

I just want to die.

Why did I let myself hope? How could I have been so pathetic? I don’t know why, but I was. What with the crystals and the ley lines and the positive thinking and everything. I just thought for once I’d get some luck. Just for once it would be me who was lucky. But of course it wasn’t. Obviously. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Why me?! Why bloody me?! Some women scarcely even want children and have them.

I want nothing else! All my life I’ve wanted to have children. Right from the first game I ever played, I’ve known I wanted to be a mum. It’s my life’s fucking ambition.

But I can’t do it.

Sixty-three periods! Sixty-three fucking months of trying and trying and trying and nothing ! I feel wretched, just wretched (quite apart from these God-awful period pains). I keep thinking, why me? I mean, why should I be the one who can’t have a little baby to hold? Why? My sister’s got two. Melinda’s got one. Every bloody woman in Sainsbury’s seems to have about twelve. I know I shouldn’t resent them but sometimes I do. It just is so unfair! Of course I know that lots of other women are in the same boat as me and all that but I just don’t care about them. That’s all. I don’t.

Dear Self

Well, the Primrose Hill Bonk bore no fruit. Bugger.

I’m afraid to say that even I had begun to get my hopes up a bit. Poor Lucy was being so positive that she made me feel positive too. I was even having fantasies about what life would be like if we had one. Just tea-time and story-telling-type fantasies, that sort of thing. Loading up the car to go camping and I’m going to stop now.

Dear Penny

I was alone at work again today so I spent five hours on the phone trying to get through to Dr Cooper to see if I can get a referral to have a laparoscopy. Most of the 247 “getting pregnant” books that I own suggest that this will probably be the next step and Dr Cooper certainly said it would be. The alternative and homeopathic books of course do not approve of this kind of brutalism but what is one to do? I’ve tried so many things and honestly if I gave up eating and drinking all the things that some of these books tell you to give up I’d starve to death before I could conceive.

I couldn’t even get through to the surgery. There’s some sort of flu epidemic on and it’s obvious that they’re a bit pushed. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to consider having it done privately. I don’t like to because Sam and I have always felt very strongly about the NHS, but I don’t think I have any choice. I mean the waiting lists are so long now that even though you want to do the right thing you can’t. Funny, really, because these days I actually feel that because the lists are so long I should go private anyway if I can afford it, just in order to free up a bed. Extraordinary. I remember when Mrs Thatcher had that operation on her hand and said, “I didn’t add to the queue,” we all went potty at dinner parties all over London and now we’re saying exactly the same thing.

I am so depressed.

Dear Sam

Lucy wants to have a laparoscopy done privately because she can’t get through to Dr Cooper. I said absolutely not. I pretended that it was a matter of political principle and expressing our solidarity with the NHS. The truth is it’s the money pure and simple. What with my cock-up over Above The Line Films and the fiasco with the Prime Minister it’s now pretty much a certainty that Nigel is going to shaft me and until I know what the future holds I can’t countenance any additional expense.

I went to Oddbins today and downgraded from single malt to blended.

Dear Penny

I am really quite proud of Sam. He was absolutely immovable on the private operation bit. I had no idea he had retained such a firm grip on his political principles. Good for him.

I’ve booked the private operation for the end of next month.

I mentioned my political fears to Sheila at work because she’s a bit of an old lefty and she said something awful. She said, “Yes, but the reason that we all worried about Thatcher’s hand was because it was about essential surgery, which is what the Health Service is for. Fertility treatment is hardly essential, is it? It’s more of a personal indulgence.”

She actually said that, and she was trying to be nice. Well, I suppose it’s what a lot of people think. Perhaps I’d think it myself if fate had dealt me different cards.

Dear Sam

Well, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the axe fell and it fell today. I finally lost my job. I think the whole corridor knew before I did. Trevor avoided my eye and Daphne looked distinctly upset. I’m a pretty easygoing sort of boss and I think she’s scared they’re going to give her to some twenty-eight-year-old Armani clothes hanger who thinks only American sitcoms are funny.

Anyway, there was a warning sign in every face, so by the time I got to Nigel’s office to which I’d been summoned I was ready for anything. In a way it wasn’t so bad.