Saturday 15 October

11.30pm. Cannot sleep. Looping thoughts are going round and round, loopily. Keep thinking all alcohol have drunk over the years will stay in body and give baby Foetal Alcohol Syndrome and baby will emerge with monstrous defects because have been so selfish as to be older mother - like older mother Una Alconbury goes on about whose baby was born with three legs and no jaw and had to be adopted by co-habiting nun and priest.

11.35pm. Still no nearer to getting DNA samples from Mark and Daniel. What If I get post-natal depression and drive the car off a cliff? There'll be no father to look after baby and Jude and Shaz will leave her outside the Electric while they get drunk and Portobello Rd will be full of dishevelled Oriental birds roosting like in Hitchcock's The Birds and they'll swoop and give baby Avian Flu by pecking at her eyes. Nooooooo! Am going to turn light on, be sensible, and stop worrying.

11.37pm. What if I put the baby in the washing machine like that woman in the paper with her cat?

11.40pm. Why are we terrified of Bird Flu? Think it is something about mutation: maybe humans into birds? Maybe will give birth to dishevelled bird's head on baby's body. Ugh, ugh. Am going to read "Desiderata".

"Go quietly amidst the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence."

Pah. Is no peace in silence: is lonely and terrifying. Is this how life will be when baby comes? Even if Mark or Daniel does want to be proper father, it will be like with girl at school called Harmony Middlebrook whose parents called her "Harmony" because they thought having her would repair their relationship and it was a total disaster. Also there are too many stairs to my flat. What if a parcel comes and I have to go down and leave baby on table and she just rolls off? Also am so old will end up bringing baby up in retirement community and worst of it is, you're not supposed to worry when you're pregnant because baby will come out worried. Oh God. Really feel like having a drink and a cigarette. What if suddenly lose control and glug entire bottle of wine out of pure habit and kill baby?

11.50pm. Am horrible spoilt person worrying about stupid things in midst of Pakistan earthquake disaster. Also am bad person because for so many years had one huge worry that I would never have a baby that you couldn't say "Oh it doesn't matter" about because it did. I mean, it was a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. Always thought: "If I do have a baby then I will never worry about trivial matters again." And now look at me.

Reminds me of before I was pregnant when there was Worry Vortex in my brain and thoughts would just go round and round on a certain subject and if one worry subject disappeared then another would plop into its place and go round and round the same vortex even if it was completely meaningless, like which trousers to put into dry cleaners.

Gaaaah! Maybe am not pregnant any more. Have lost that glowing peaceful feeling (though Shaz said glowing feeling was mere product of not being hung-over for first time in 17 years) Maybe baby has died. Had better do pregnancy test quickly.

11.55pm. Hurrah! Am still pregnant! Gaaah! Telephone.

Was Jude, talking in a strange voice.

"I hort yur gegging DNA off Daniel."

"What?"

"Ning neah,"

"Why are you talking in that funny voice?"

"He's here. Daniel's in the Electric." There was the sound of a struggle. "Fucking bastard!" It was Sharon now. "I'm going to fucking kill him. You'd better get your arse down here."

Was completely dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?" I hissed. "Why aren't you in bed? It's the middle of the night."

"Bridget. It's Saturday night. It's not even midnight. Just because you're pregnant there's no need to go insane."

Whole idea of going out seemed monstrous and unnatural. But I really needed to get Daniel's DNA, and anything was better than tossing and turning, imagining deformed flu birds' heads on babies' bodies in retirement community washing machines. Twitching and muttering I managed to get dressed, find my handbag and stagger down to a curry-scented minicab which immediately set off at a rattling belt in the general direction of North Yorkshire.

Eventually reined in minicab and redirected it towards Electric. Could not believe the crush of people and shouting inside. Everyone seemed completely mad: an impression I get increasingly when out these days but Shaz says is because have no previous adult memory of being sober after 8pm.

Caught sight of Jude, Shaz and Daniel at a table near the bar, but smell of booze and cigarettes made me have to rush to loos and puke. When I returned, Sharon, dressed in transparent blouse, was leaning over Daniel coquettishly, holding his hand, saying: "Come on now, darling ... close your eyes."

Daniel looked up, nervously, caught sight of me and yelled: "Christ Alive! Jones! Jesus! What's happened to your tits? They're fucking enormous."

"I said shut ‘em," snarled Shazzer, at which Daniel, clearly terrified, screwed up his eyes.

"OK," said Shazzer, turning Daniel's palm upwards as Jude slipped her a pair of nail scissors. "This is a secret test I learned from my psychic to find out whether you're going to live a long happy life, or die horribly and soon. Hold still."

Shazzer ran the blade lightly across Daniel's wrist. Then, quick as a flash, took his index finger, clipped his fingernail, and handed it to Jude.

"Bloody hell," said Daniel. "That hurt."

"Oh diddums, did it?" said Shaz, lunging at him again with her fist, at which a tiny pinprick of blood appeared on his palm, just as Jude dived in with a cotton wool ball and swabbed it.

"Thanks!" said Shazzer, "We'll let you have the results in a couple of days."