I attempted to write a stern e-mail today. Stern e-mails aren't something I'm brilliant at, but this stern e-mail had to be stern, so I employed the use of words like 'shocked' and 'vociferous'. The problem was, I'm so used to writing polite e-mails that some of my habits die hard. The end of the e-mail read, 'I expect and demand your full and detailed explanation of these events by the end of the week at the absolute latest. Regards, D. Wallace.'

And then, just after pressing Send, I realised I'd put a little kiss at the end.

SATURDAY

My friend Pete returned to our table at the pub slightly shaken by a man he'd met while standing at the long, trough-like urinals. The man had joined him and grumpily exhaled, before saying, 'There is no way this is a five-man urinal.' It seemed a strange thing to be upset about, as if the pub had been actively promoting the idea of a five-man urinal. Like they'd hung up a sign saying, 'GOOD FOOD! SKY SPORTS! FIVE-MAN URINAL!' Now, however, I find myself assessing urinals in terms of how many men can comfortably stand side by side in front of them, and that is a gift I never thought I'd have.

SUNDAY

I think if you were a soldier under massive artillery attack in the trenches, a funny thing to do would be to pull out a big yellow SuperSoaker and start fighting back with that because, come on, can't we all just be friends?

WINTER

PLANS

Colin doesn't know it, but his world is about to change for ever. We are in the pub. The same pub in which we have discussed many of the world's most important issues.

The same pub which has seen us share our wisdom and impart our philosophies at rough wooden tables with rougher pints of beer for so long now. The pub which has been at the centre of a thousand vital meetings of minds, and a thousand of what Colin likes to refer to as his 'major pub debates'. But tonight, it will be at the centre of something else entirely.

I watch him, as he stumbles inside, the inside of his jacket catching on the door handle, and his surprised face, as if it doesn't happen every time. I continue to watch, as he gives me the thumbs up, does the little shaky 'pint?' gesture with his hand, and then trips as he gets to the bar and tries to choose the crisps.

Ah, sweet, gentle Colin. So innocent. So naive. So in for a shock.

He sits down, opens his crisps, and immediately senses something is up. Perhaps, as with his cousins in the animal kingdom, he can feel change in the wind.

And so I tell him. I tell him my news. I tell him he's soon to become an honorary uncle. That I'm going to be a dad.