Tuesday 11 April

Midnight. "I hate the way newspapers turn everything evil and bad. I can completely see why Ken Livingstone might blurt that Poll Tax riots were our Tiananmen Square - I was just desperately trying to make polite conversation and find common ground with weird Chinese dignitaries - like when Mum and Mark Darcy's mother were desperately trying to get on and Mum said: "We had lovely food growing up. My mother was a domestic science teacher." And Mark's mother - daughter of some Duchess - gabbled: "Oh I know! We used to have the most marvellous chefs!"

At least the papers have started being nice to Camilla. She must have been horribly hurt by all those American headlines like "Frump Tower" and now look how she's come out on top! Just by being funny and, normal and nice! Really, Camilla is an answer to what J K Rowling was complaining about: the cult of youth and thinness, anorexic teenage models in adverts pretending to run board meetings then rushing home to cook dinner for 12 people and making us all feel inadequate. Prince Charles was married to one of the world's most thin, young, beautiful women and he preferred Camilla. You see? It's all about what's on the inside. Mind you, I'm not sure if true with Harry and Chelsy but..."

"Oh do shut up, Jones," interrupted Daniel, pulling out to overtake a Mercedes which was bigger than his. "You really are quite, quite mad."

"Daniel!" I said hoity-toitily. "I was giving. My political. Views. On current. Affairs. Also after this week I suddenly feel better about bird flu because I know what to do. Before it was all vague, but now, if I see a dead swan, I know I just mustn't take it home and pluck it."

"Or fuck it," snorted Daniel, pulling up at the traffic lights. Was just wondering if could live with Daniel belittling my opinions in this manner when large white van came hurtling round the corner, on wrong side of the road, straight at us. Daniel hit the horn but I just froze, thinking baby was going to die before even born, waiting for sickening crunch of death. Then, at last second, the van swerved, missing us by an inch. Daniel screeched into reverse, saying "OK, Jones. We need to get out of here because..." but even as he spoke a white police van with flashing lights and siren hurtled round the corner in identical manner, straight at us.

"Oh my God," said Daniel, grasping my hand. I couldn't believe it. Life seemed so fragile. Had never worried about dying before, but now I realised the baby had changed everything and I didn't want to die. Then, right at the last moment, police van swerved like the other van and screamed off.

For a few moments Daniel and I just sat completely still, staring straight ahead . Then a couple tapped on the window and said "are you all right?"

"Fucking bastards pig police!" Daniel, suddenly yelled. "I swear to God, if that van had killed us and driven on, the bastard police would have driven straight over the wreckage to carry on their pathetic movie-inspired car chase. London's going to end up like Los Angeles, staging car chases to feed the television networks and their own pathetic Kojak fantasies. Look at Heather Mills McCartney. Yes we're fine, thank you very much. My wife is pregnant and we've probably lost the baby but we're fine - thanks to our excellent local constabulary."

"Are you sure?" said the man. "Should I call an ambulance?"

They all looked at me. "I'm fine," I said, then burst into gulping sobs. And now we're back at Daniel's flat. And we've just had fantastic sex for the first time since I've been pregnant. And Daniel's asked me to move in with him. And he called me his wife: probably to make things more comprehensible to strangers. But still.

Wednesday 12 April

7pm. This was the day I was never meant to see. Daniel said such beautiful things last night - about how we were wasting precious gift of child by dilly-dallying about whether to be together when all three of us could have been dead.

But now I think maybe it's like when I chucked Andy Wutherspoon at school. Then local paper said his brother was killed in a skiing accident. I rang up, saying: "Is there anything I can do?". And Andy said: "Yes. Go out with me again." But turned out brother was alive after all, so had to effectively explain I wouldn't go out with Andy unless his brother was dead. Maybe once Daniel realises we're all not dying will change mind.

Anyway. Am going to Pregnancy Yoga to increase Karma flow.

9pm. My flat. Ugh. Ridiculous school assembly-like experience. Teacher's evidently strong sense of being native Yogi in Kathmandu, undermined by pastiness and Essex twang: "It's wonderful for the unborn baby to sing. Would you like to sing?"

Everyone shuffled awkwardly. What were we supposed to do? Chorus: "Yes please, Mrs Jowell."?

"Fine," she said huffily. "We won't sing. We'll do an 'Om'."

Found self peeping under eyelashes, like in school prayers, to see if others had eyes shut.

"Now. The Goddess of childbirth is Shiva - and Shiva is the only goddess they still sacrifice animals to."

For a moment thought there was going to be a mad rush to the zoo. But no. "Lie on your backs and imagine that lovely soft mucus plug at the mouth of the cervix dropping out."

Fortunately someone's mobile started ringing. "Whose mobile is that?" she shrieked, turning from yogi to bar-room harpy. Unfortunately was mine. Made a rugby-tackle grab at handbag and shot out of room, hearing her yell: "You might roll your mat up behind you."

"Jones, are you upside down with your legs apart?" - Daniel - "I just called to say, all that bollocks I was talking last night..." - heart sank. "I meant it. I'm coming to fetch you from yoga. You can show me how you look these days with your legs over your head."