Suddenly, every advert on TV features a small child, or a hapless father being bullied at the breakfast table by his unpleasant family. For the first time, it pulls at my heartstrings. I can be hapless! And what if one day I want an unpleasant family?

Children are something we've talked about, but it's never felt real until now. And what if it's not possible?

I decide to book in for a test. Already I'm nervous. What if I haven't got twenty million? What if I've only got one? I was quite a big baby, so maybe I've only got just one really big one? I'm not sure if this is how it works.

I arrive at the hospital.

'What are you here for?' says the lady behind reception, and my stomach flips. I have to tell her. And then she'll know. Worse, she'll know what I'm here to do. I just hold up the letter confirming the appointment and she looks away quickly and mumbles 'downstairs'.

Downstairs, I take my place on a hard chair in a literally sterile waiting room. I exchange a pained look with another man.

He knows what I'm about to do, I think, shaking my head. Moments later, he shakes his head too. This is all Colin's fault! Why couldn't he have just stopped at the robots? Every sip of beer will now feel like murder! Colin has ruined my life!

'Mr Wallace?' says a male nurse in a green uniform. He is holding a small container.

I stand up, and steel myself. The other man looks at me. We exchange a nod of solemn solidarity. We are men. Men, together. Bonded by paranoia, and society, and convention, and possibly inaccurate Mexican internet reports.

I take the small container and consider it. Clearly, the nurse holds no great hopes for me. How you're supposed to get twenty million of anything in one of these I've no idea. I must prove him wrong. Prove that the Wallace bloodline can and will continue.

I remind myself of that day in Loughborough Leisure Centre - the glorious final lap, the roar of the crowd - and think, I can do this.

I walk into a small room.

CHILDREN

We have been shopping in town and are on our way home on the tube, laden down with bags and coffees. Opposite us sits a small child in a buggy, his mother stroking his hair and doting. I watch my wife melt a little and she smiles at the boy, and waves. He smiles back, and looks to his mother, then back at us.

And then he looks at me and starts laughing inexplicably. My wife laughs, and I laugh, and I pull a funny face and everyone laughs.

We get off at the next stop.