Although I had thought about and packed a ‘going home’ outfit, for some reason which evades me now I didn’t put it on, and opted for what I had worn into the hospital instead.
This consisted of what Misery Guts calls my ‘cruddy, baggy-arsed tracky bottoms’ – aka a pair of lace up velour tracksuit bottoms I got from Mark One (does that even still exist?) about 10,000 years ago which sport red marks from bleach I’ve spilt while cleaning the loo – my Birkenstocks, an H&M top and Misery Guts’ denim jacket. Nice.
Aside from the fact Kate’s outfit was a tad on the impractical side if she’s planning to breast feed (there was absolutely no way she was going to breast feed in that dress) of course we’d all look every bit as good as she did if we had an army of people to help us – presumably hair, make up etc had been done for her.
But what I couldn’t get over, when she turned her perfectly curled head on the steps of the Lindo wing and retreated back inside the hospital, was that there was absolutely no sign of the necessary big pants. And the wind was blowing. Where was her VPL?
I’ve got absolutely no doubt I was sporting a VPL. How on earth did she do it?
Alas, I’m afraid we’ll probably never know…