freswith

The first thing I would ask is how they came to know that, and what evidence do they have.

The Archangel Strikes Oh Matt, how could you do this to me? I lay on the beach at Marazion flanked by Juliet and Vickie, just as we had three summers ago, but while their tummies were then distended with their incipient daughters, now those same daughters were playing in the sand and their mothers' tummies were again nice and flat, while my own view of St Michael's Mount was obstructed by Amelia's Mount - my huge distended belly which housed what was to be my twin daughters, and what was worse, at the start of this process I had actually wanted a baby. I mean it was the thing to do. Lots of models had had babies, and enjoyed the fulfilment of motherhood, and then returned to the catwalk a few months later as flat as a billiard table, a slim as a billiard cue, and not a stretch mark in sight. Nobody had ever managed that after having twins. Now, here I was, on "maternity leave" with a prospect of never going back to work because I would just be seen as a pot-belly with a mass of stretch-marks. My cup runneth over! I took stock carefully. Count your blessings, Gran had said. I was married to Matt, and still very much in love with him after two years - quite an achievement in itself in what can be the highly corrosive environment of the celebrity game. I was having the baby we had planned. Matt had the career he wanted; having left his general practice in the wilds of Devon he had joined the Navy and been posted - of all places - to Culdrose in Cornwall, where Juliet's and Vickie's husbands also served. There had been cries of "fix" when that happened, although it was a bit of a disaster for me when I found I had to commute to London to work - a five-hour drive if I was lucky. We had done a deal with Dad for his holiday cottage, which was just large enough for the two of us with a spare bedroom for a baby. Dad had bought a villa in Provence with the money, and that would be available to us for holidays. Simon and Vickie had moved into a married quarter on the station, so we were all together except for Peter who now had a frigate and was stuck in the Falklands for a time. Gradually my problems shrank to a manageable size. I looked down at my huge pot, and also my huge pot of anti-stretch-mark cream, and wondered how big I was going to get in the next month. Perhaps I should get up and do something, take some exercise or suchlike, but the sheer effort involved put me off. I would have to go to the toilet quite soon anyway - those twins inside me were already making their presence known in that respect, as in others. Thank you Matt, I only wanted one baby, not two. If he had told me that twins ran in his family, I might have been more cautious. I looked around. Sally and Catherine, both three years old now and at the stage of "maximum cute", were playing in the sand with bucket and spade, watched carefully by their mothers. Matt and Simon were splashing in the surf with Jack. Holly was with us under the windbreak, she was now twelve years old and fiercely proud of her developing curves and lengthening legs; indeed, she was becoming a bit of a beauty in her own right. I was sitting with their mothers being advised on the interminable subject of childcare, and listening with some reluctance. Despite the joys of motherhood being radiated by Sally and Caroline, I was not looking forward to abandoning my glittering lifestyle for the mundane world of a mother-of-twins, but there was little option now. Just over a month to go. Were my efforts to avoid stretch marks a hopeless cause? Juliet was talking to Holly, telling her the story of St Michael's Mount, and how some fishermen had seen St Michael fighting the Devil on top of it in about the year 500AD. I had heard the story before - Juliet was an absolute mine of useless information about Cornish folklore, and I half-listened to her. She had once dared me to crawl through the hole in the stone of Men-an-Tol, but didn't tell me it was a fertility rite, so part of my present problem was her fault. She stopped talking for a moment and looked at me. I was expected to make some comment. I replied, all I could think of at that moment, that I hoped St Michael, if he could hear me, would come back down to earth a bit and stop me getting stretch marks. That broke Juliet's thread, and she changed the subject to talk about our current interest - babies. At the umpteenth reiteration of some minor point of childcare I decided I had had enough, and threw a grenade into the conversation. I asked Juliet and Vickie how the toilet training was going. That was ever the wrong thing to do. The two little ones were now at the age when the process should have been completed, but it was becoming clear the rogue gene that rampaged through our family was still active, and little effective progress had been made. Juliet sucked her teeth. "We try," she said, "We try. Sally seems to be able to hold it during the day, unless she is totally preoccupied with play" - she looked at her little daughter Sally playing happily in the sand - "but nights are hopeless. Even if we wake her and make her go, she still wets. Several times a night I think. I haven't even dared to try her without a nappy yet." I looked at Sally. There was still a trace of a pink ring around her thigh; she had come to the beach in a nappy, and would almost certainly return in one, even though the house was barely more than half-an-hour's drive even in the heavy traffic of the high tourist season.. I turned to Vickie. She shrugged. "Much the same. I don't want to put too much pressure on Caroline; I would rather her wet and happy than dry - or rather partly dry - and miserable. I suggest, I tempt with rewards, I make promises, but she still wets every single blasted night like she's Old Faithful. It's better just to nappy her and live with it. Fortunately Simon is very understanding - she's the apple of his eye, and can do no wrong as far as he's concerned. It might be different when the next one comes." Vickie's interesting condition had been the big news of the month. My babies stirred inside me, and Holly promptly said she could see the movements. Holly had paid rapt attention to my pregnancy; she had just had her first period, which had suddenly brought everything into focus for her, and she was very proud of her accession to womanhood. Juliet sat up and looked around over the windbreak, - she was always very cautious about my privacy. "Tide's coming in." she observed, "I think its time to pack up and go." The beach at Marazion slopes very gently, which makes it safe for children, but the cost is that the tide comes in quite rapidly. The men were now within earshot, and the first waves were threatening the holes that Sally and Catherine had dug. The girls were recalled, and changed in the shelter and privacy of the windbreak with only the smallest protest. They were dressed alike in hats and sundresses with just the bottom of their nappies visible at the tail, indeed they were more like twins than cousins. Then the men arrived, and began to pick up our belongings. I was excused the work because of my condition, but I made up for it by offering to buy everybody ice creams at the little café in the village - an offer which was cheerfully accepted by the children, and suffered by their parents. We trooped up off the beach, dumped our belongings in the cars, and repaired to the café. I was now bursting for a pee, and the sight of the little girls, safely nappied, made me quite envious; I could really do with one now, and I could almost feel the cool soft pillow of plastic rubbing against my own thighs. How nice it would be to be able to wear a nappy like that, in public, peeking out from under a sundress and without the slightest comment or embarrassment. How nice it would be to be able to just relax and let go without all the paraphernalia of going to the toilets. Suddenly I had an image of being changed in the open by Matt's big strong hands, and I wanted the toilet even more desperately. We made it to the café in the nick of time and I made my excuses and headed for the toilet, when I came out, much relieved, they had ordered for me and we had taken over about half the café. I sat myself down, and my babies stirred inside me once again, as if to make themselves more comfortable. They were certainly much more active than usual, and I wondered if they could sense the excitement of the other children, and felt left out from the treat. Well, it wouldn't be long now, just over a month, and they would be out into this world will all that implied Oh God!...Oh God!.. The cramp hit me like an axe blow, and I gasped and clutched my tummy. Matt was with me in a second, and all conversation suddenly stopped. I felt a warm wetness between my thighs, and gasped, "They're Coming!" All Hell cut loose. Matt and Simon panicked in the best naval manner, commands were given, and feet were running in all directions. If they had had flags, they would have waved them. The little children started to cry, Holly started to flap, and only little Jack remained quietly enjoying his ice cream. It was decided we couldn't wait for an ambulance, so Simon dashed for his car. I was bundled into the back with Matt to take care of me, and we set off for the hospital at Truro. I remembered very little of the journey except for the horrifying speed at which Simon drove. We got there just in the nick of time, and Katherine was born as the clocks struck six, followed by Elizabeth just a few minutes later. Both of them were promptly whisked off to intensive care and put into a single incubator. By seven I was back on the ward and accepting congratulations while quietly making a mental note never again to trifle with an Archangel. The following morning I was down to the perinatal intensive care unit as soon as they would let me, inspecting the two tiny scraps of life in the incubator. The prognosis was good, although their lungs were not fully developed and so they were on pure oxygen. I was allowed, nay encouraged, to handle them and was just about to do my first nappy change. The nurse hovered over me, and asked if I knew how to do it. I sucked my teeth for a moment, and then replied: "Yes, I think so. I have done it before... a few times".

It depends partly on where you took it for its MoT. I took my aged Citroen to the Citroen agent for its MoT.

This is rated as the second most viewed article on the Daily Telegraph website today.

Solidarity. Things became ever more complicated as my big day approached. That was unusual - normally things like weddings were organised with the efficiency of a naval staff under the direction of Gran, but she was aging now, and, while taking a close interest, was concerning herself less and less with details. My mother was taking over, but had come head-to-head with my manager, Julian, who could see a wonderful opportunity to "further my career" with the public interest it would attract - Supermodel Wedding, sponsorship, glossy coverage, photographers etcetera. To Mum, I was a daughter to be wed, but to Julian there was always money to be made; I became more and more conscious that I was a product to be marketed as opposed to being a friend to be celebrated. Fortunately we had all come to an agreement. The wedding was to be based at Pembroke, where all the family weddings took place. The local church at Woburn was to be used for the ceremony, though it had seldom been graced by our attendance. This time I hoped Percy would manage to avoid falling down the haha. We arranged the reception at the Abbey, after Julian had negotiated a large discount, bearing in mind the favourable publicity we would bring. Julian wanted half of London to be at the wedding of the season, complete with orchestra and television crews, but frankly I did not, that wasn't the way we did things and I always thought such extravagance would bring bad luck, Just the same, Julian arranged for them to come, and the costs were more than offset by selling the photographs to the Glossies. Julian took his slice. On his visit to Pembroke I saw him slipping his business card to Elke, the beautiful Estonian au pair girl, who pocketed it carefully. My own personal arrangements were proceeding nicely. Matt had postponed his plans to join the Navy, so we would have time to settle in together, which seemed only wise. I would have liked to have had him in uniform on the day, and Julian was much disappointed that he would not be, but to have had him posted somewhere at the Navy's whim would not have been helpful. We were going to settle in Devon for a while, keeping my mews house in London for my work, and then make further plans. One problem that had been resolved was the mural in the garage - Matt had shown an unusual talent for DIY, and had erected a stud wall that covered it while leaving it undamaged - a possible huge surprise for some future owner when making improvements to the property. There were ructions on a family scale, too. In the matter of bridesmaids, I was under intense pressure from the New Coven, consisting of my cousins Viola and Alice, and my niece Holly, who regarded bridesmaidship as their God-given right. Properly, such matters were the preserve of the Leading Child, but William had apparently joined the Submarine Service and was keeping well down, out of sight and silent. Viola had him bent around her little finger anyway, and weddings were very much a girly matter, so his opinions were not invited - he was going to be told what he was going to wear and where he was going to stand. William was now a gangling teenager, as tall as I am, and was not terribly keen on being a pageboy, being very anxious that no-one should insist on him cutting his tousled mop of fair hair and forcing him into some silly knee-breeches outfit. I did win one significant battle; my old friend and confidant, Helen, was to design my wedding dress, despite Julian's pleas for a more profitable contract. I owed it to Helen, a struggling designer, as she had been kind enough to run up some very special clothes for me over the years, and had recently mastered the technique of working in polyurethane laminate at my request. Helen was close beside me now as the make-up artist and the hairdressers finished their work. I was about to slip into Helen's creation when there was the most almighty racket from along the corridor, where the bridesmaids were being dressed. I called out to ask the matter, and received the chilling reply: "Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about, we can manage!" - the dread words that have ushered in almost every human disaster since Pompeii. Dressed only in my underwear, I went to investigate. I found the centre of the disturbance was little Alice, normally the quietest of children, waving her fists in fury at Elke, who stood arms akimbo before her in a posture of complete intransigence. I had great respect for Alice, who demonstrated the stubbornness and courage so highly prized in our family. It took a few moments to extract the cause of the dispute. Alice had been having a few accidents lately and her mother had decreed that she should wear some protection under her bridesmaid's dress, but Alice had been outraged at the threatened indignity. It had been left to Elke, with her basic English, to persuade the outraged child that it was "for her own good", a phrase which always has a hollow rattle. Looking on, much concerned, were Holly and Viola who had only been dry a few months themselves, and were thus painfully aware not only of the humiliation being heaped on their little colleague, but also of the need for it. It was time for Aunt Amelia to intervene. I knew I had great kudos with the children, and it was time to use some of it. I knelt down beside the tearful child and held out my arms, and she came into them gladly, blubbering against my cheek to the effect that they were trying to put her back into nappies and she had only had a couple of little accidents and she wasn't a little baby anymore and she didn't need them. I saw Elke's eyebrows raise sharply, and guessed that the real truth might be a little more diluvian than that, but, no matter, I had to win and keep the little girl's confidence. I started on The Lecture, but the reasoning, though valid, had been worn out by so many repetitions that I failed to convince even myself. I shifted the subject, and mentioned that I had become dry at eleven years old, and nobody had expected her to become dry by eight ("Seven!" she corrected me sharply) which was a record in the family, and how my father had given me a pony as a reward. It was a bit more complicated than that, but my mention of dear old Patch, long since gone to graze the Elysian Fields, caught her attention and opened the door to an attempt at bribery. Like courage and stubbornness, bribery was well respected amongst Gran's piratical ancestors, and Alice was true to her roots. If she was good, and agreed to wear some protection - I didn't use the word "nappy" - I would intercede with Percy and try to get him to do the same as my father had done. The snuffling stopped and I was transfixed by her cold and intense stare, trying to read my face and see if I was being truthful. I remembered how difficult this could be for a child - it had taken me months to get over the Tooth Fairy Hoax, and as for Father Christmas...! It was time to close the sale, as Julian had taught me. I checked the people around me, and noted the absence of Viola and Holly. None of the others showed any inclination to interrupt - I had the field to myself. I just dreaded that someone like Gran might turn up and offer help at just the critical moment, but she was safely ensconced downstairs with a sherry, and out of earshot. I drew breath to clinch the deal with Alice. "Can I help up here, my dears?" came a querulous voice, and I saw Gran enter the room, walking stick in one hand, sherry glass in the other. "No, Gran, Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about, we can manage!" came my reply, backed by a desperate glare. She caught my tone of urgency, and held back. I turned back to Alice, but I could see that the interruption had been enough; her eyes were now full of deep suspicion. "A pony," I whispered, "Think of a pony!" but it did no good. Helen appeared, tapping her wrist to remind me that we were running out of time. Just then two figures squeezed in the door behind Gran. Viola and Holly. Both wearing nappies. "Come on, Alice, time to get our dresses on!" Holly cried, "You're not ready yet. Come On!" Alice's mouth moved, but no sound came out. I tried again, "A pony, think of your very own pony!" Alice stirred and held me. I picked her up, and she clung to me like a monkey as I carried her toward the nursery, where I found Elke waiting with a nappy laid out on the changing table all ready for her. Without further ado, I sat Alice down in the middle of it, laid her back down, and pulled her pants down over her feet. I promptly moved forward again so my body was in the way of her getting her legs together, and pulled the front of the nappy up between them, meeting only token resistance from her hands trying to push it back down again, before taping the sides closed around her. The entire operation had taken only a few seconds, and the result was a securely nappied child, better fitted for a night of solid wetting than a couple of hours of ceremonials. The solidarity of the New Coven had proven stronger than the lure of bribery. Fifteen minutes later we were lined up in the hall for Gran's careful inspection. I mouthed my thanks to Viola and Holly for their intervention, and then lowered my veil over my face. Both of the great double doors of Pembroke opened, as they only did on occasions such as this, and with my hand on my father's arm we set forth into the rising heat of a summer's morning like a fleet under sail. If I heard the slightest rustle from behind me, I put it down to the newness of the dresses. Every minute for the next few hours was filled with activity. A long photo session in the heat of the day exhausted all of us, but the Glossies had their pound of flesh - with about a pint of sweat. We finally left the reception in the going-away ceremony, ostensibly to go on honeymoon but in fact to go as far as Pembroke to spend the night, as our flight was not to depart until the morning. It was such a huge relief to get out of those tight, heavy formal clothes, and rest awhile in the cool of Pembroke's thick walls. Eventually we resurfaced and went to look for the others. We found them in the garden, the old people on the patio in the lingering warmth of the stones, and the rest, fractionated by age down the garden towards the pond. Juliet and Vickie were on the lawn, cruising their new daughters across the soft damp grass, and guesses were being made on which of the babies would be the first to walk unaided. We idled on until we reached the children around the pond, under Elke's watchful eyes. There was one surprise left; Viola, Holly and Alice were stripped down to only tops and nappies, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. I raised an eyebrow at Elke, and she shrugged. "They were all wet," she said. "They said they couldn't find the toilets in the Abbey, and didn't want to make a fuss. They were all soaking wet, so I just changed them. Claire said it was the rules and Viola agreed." I nodded. Yes, it was the rules. Pembroke rules. A wet nappy got changed - you could only be called dry when you had shown some dry ones, but it was still an unusually rigid interpretation. Given the bond that had formed between them, I suspected that one of them might have had an accident, and the other two had peed their nappies deliberately in order to avoid her being singled-out. I looked carefully at Elke, then I looked across at Viola, lying on her stomach beside the pond and tickling the recumbent William with a seed-stalk of grass. She smiled at me and winked, showing a knowledge that should have been way beyond her thirteen years, and I winked back. It takes one to know one. Matt and I settled on the bench in the bower at the bottom of the garden, a place perfectly designed for lovers on a warm summer's evening, and involved ourselves with each other for a while. I lay back into Matt's arm and watched the children, wondering if one day some child of mine would be among them, playing as I had once played. Suddenly I had a vision of generations of children playing here, of long dresses, breeches, stocks, long coats, tricorn hats, but still the same children, always playing on the same green lawns, growing up and having children of their own. One day, perhaps, in the evening of our lives like Gran and Granpa, we would see it from the other end of the garden as our achievement. Gradually the garden began to empty as the smallest children were taken to bed. Holly and Alice, who had been sitting on the stone edging of the pond dabbling their feet in the water, were reclaimed by their mothers. As they waddled reluctantly up the garden it was plain to see from their swollen drooping rears that splashing one's feet in the cold water could be something of a risk. That left us with Viola and William who, relieved of the company of the smaller girls, began some kind of wrestling match with the unlikely result that Viola ended up sitting astride William, pinning him to the ground. Both seemed quite content with the situation, although William did make a cautious check on Viola's nappy, slipping his fingers up the back of her legs in fear or expectation of wetness. Not before time, Claire reappeared to claim her elder daughter, and to break up a situation that was becoming seamier by the minute. Matt and I remained awhile and then followed slowly up the long garden in the gathering dusk; it had been a very long, hot day and tomorrow would involve an early start and a very long flight. On the way along the landing we met Viola again, coming out of the nursery. She was holding a terry nappy, pins and pants, and heading for the bedroom she was sharing with Holly. "None left in my size," she said rather sheepishly, "I'll have to make do with these." I looked at her carefully. "Mum insists. Can't use the changing table, either. Might wake the babies." I nodded. Claire was well known for a strict interpretation of the law and no excuses, but I suspect she had had enough of the New Coven and it's solidarity, and was making her feelings felt. Loyalty to your shipmates is highly regarded in our family, but it has its limits; Viola was obviously being picked on as the leader with the intent of quenching the rebellion. The ante was being upped; Viola obviously had no idea of what to do with a terry nappy, but I certainly did. "Can you manage?" I asked. After a moment she nodded. "I think so," she replied doubtfully, and then with a gleam in her eye she added "William might help me." That was enough. I took the hint. I nodded my excuses to Matt, and took Viola's arm, briskly escorting her to her bedroom. In the other bed, Holly turned over to watch as I folded the terry nappy kitewise onto the bed and turned towards Viola. She handed me the pins and the pants and, dropping her dressing gown from her shoulders, turned and sat on the nappy. I checked the sides to see that it was central, and then pulled the front up and over her. Unlike Alice, she made no attempt to resist and kept her hands well out of the way. Only when I had pinned her nappy on each side did she reach down to touch the soft white towelling and the pins. I paused for a moment; the thought had struck that perhaps this same nappy had wrapped my loins and kept my bed dry in the old days - and not so long ago. The warm secure feeling came back to me and I envied Viola lying there in a pristine white nappy with the prospect of spending the whole night snug and safe, and if she woke up in a wet nappy, at least the bed would be dry and warm, and she wouldn't be in trouble. Eventually I shook out the plastic pants, and seeing Viola lift her feet, did it the old way, putting my hands through the leg holes, seizing her ankles and sliding the pants up her legs. I helped her to her feet, and then pulled the waistband up over her bottom, before pushing the leg elastics up into the nappy and checking everything was well tucked in at the back if the waistband. Viola adjusted one of the elastics, and then obeying the rule of "no handies in your panties" left them well alone. "Beautiful job!" murmured Matt from the doorway. I glanced at him disapprovingly before finishing off Viola with a kiss and the obligatory pat on the bottom. "Oh God!" she said, "I couldn't walk anywhere like this. It's massive!" I'd had enough of being manipulated. I wasn't going to pick her up - she was thirteen and weighed a ton, and I wasn't going to risk putting my back out on my wedding night, just when it had work to do. "You won't have to." I replied, "You can get to bed on your hands and knees." Smirking, she crawled up the bed with her huge backside wiggling, and it was all I could do to avoid the temptation to give it a hearty smack, then she wriggled down between the sheets where I tucked her in firmly. There was a snigger from the other bed. I turned to Holly, and to recover my dignity and authority I made a point of checking her nappy, mostly to make sure she hadn't quietly taken it off; it was far too soon for her to have wet it, unless she did so very deliberately. Once again, there was no objection. I tucked her back in, gave her a quick kiss, went to the door, said "Good Night!" very firmly, switched out the light and closed the door. We walked up the landing to our bedroom, with me fuming about how I had been manipulated by those two brats. On the way we passed the nursery door, so, naturally, I looked in to the check the babies. There they were, Sally and Caroline together in the big cot, wrapped in each other's arms with their heads surrounded by halos of fair hair, and sleeping soundly. My bad temper evaporated and I stood a few moments in contemplation of the scene. Why did babies ever have to grow up? Later that night I lay in Matt's arms, having made love long and gently and, for the first time, with the genuine wish to conceive rather than just for the momentary pleasure. I kept repeating to myself, silently: "Mrs. Johnson... Mrs. Amelia Johnson... Dr. and Mrs. Matthew Johnson... Mummy and Daddy...." until I fell asleep.

Well, something like that.

OK.

Would someone like to suggest a time and place?

http://adult-baby-club.com/Contact.htm

How many people did he "kill" so casually while getting worked up about the utterly gentle ABDL scene? He talks about a diaper fetish leading people to become paedophiles while ignoring the those who have played these games and gone on to become terrorists.

Safe Sex The meeting had gone well, and it wasn't just the usual benediction that closes a business meeting. I had taken Matt into the office at Marguerite's model agency, and wasn't quite prepared for the amount of attention he received. He'd been given the once-over by some very professional - and critical - eyes, and had apparently been approved. Then we had settled in the boardroom, where both Marguerite and my manager, Julian, had questioned him, politely, but in a more searching manner than I would have believed possible. Julian, who is as gay as they come, had shown a remarkable perspicacity in the finer points of marriage, including several that had never even occurred to me, and I wondered from whence he had got his experience. Julian's private life was a closed book within the agency - he kept it entirely to himself. However Matt had sailed through this interrogation, and many items had been settled. We were both briefed on my career prospects, and Matt was questioned on his. Lips were pursed at his intention to join the Navy in order to progress his surgical training, and Marguerite had suggested he might apply to one of the London teaching hospitals, where something could perhaps be "fixed". I had heard of Marguerite's legendary powers as a fixer - partly due to her rumoured connection with the earthier side of modelling - but doubted if they would stretch that far. However, she seemed confident that something might be arranged. Then we got down to details of the wedding - something even Matt and I had barely sketched - and within minutes Marguerite had produced a plan of action for what promised to be the wedding of the year, which would generate the maximum income at the lowest cost. The photographs, the articles in the glossy magazines, and my various contracts with clothing companies were all discussed. I had to stick my toes in when it came to the dress - I had promised that job to Helen, my old school friend and confidante, as she was struggling to establish her own fashion label and desperately needed the publicity and patronage. I desperately needed Helen, too. I wanted her to exercise her skills with PUL fabric and make me some of those lovely nappies like Hal had been wearing, but of course I couldn't say that out loud. As for the underwear at the wedding, although I was contracted to Victoria's Secret, I had my own ideas - and I suspect Matt may have had similar ones. He was quite cheerful at using my fetish as a way to control me, and I was quite happy for him to do so; it gets quite mundane nappying oneself, and the frisson of being so intimately under his control turned me on something terrible. The thought of Matt's hands on me in the intimacy of my bedroom sent a tingle down my middle and, under the table, I slipped my hand into the inside of his thigh and felt the warmth of him. If anyone saw, they didn't comment; this was the custom in a model agency - one's sex life was one's own affair, although it was generally expected to be passionate. The one unspoken thing was motherhood; pregnancy could put me out of action for an entire season, and was something I quietly dreaded, since I was making excellent money. Oh Lord, give me motherhood - but not just yet! After the meeting closed, Matt took me home to my house in the Mews, and we paused for a while to examine that wretched mural, the one Spike had painted of me in a romper on top of my little car. I had been a bit shy of showing it to Matt, since Spike had always been a taboo subject, but he was history now and the scars were fading. Matt asked me if it had been done from life, and I told him that Spike, a notable graffiti painter, had to do all his pictures from memory, although the yellow romper was real and I still had it. Matt said he had never seen me in baby clothes and that started it. We repaired to my nursery in the garret, and I showed Matt the shelves full of bits and pieces, the stack of disposables, the carefully-folded terry nappies, and the less orderly plastic pants. In the drawer underneath was my hoard of clothes - the baby dolls, sleepers, onesies and rompers, not so many of them because either Julian had to buy them on my behalf, or I had to make them myself, and despite my teacher's most earnest efforts, I was no expert with a needle. Matt took out the romper in which Spike had painted me in his mural, and held it up against me. That really started it. It really shouldn't take three hours to get a nappy onto a little girl, no matter how much she wriggles and squeals, and one really shouldn't interrupt the procedure to make love, but after much wriggling and squealing, and at least a couple of interruptions, Matt duly succeeded in dressing me in my big terry nappy, plastic pants, t-shirt and romper, and I was sitting in my chair in the kitchen, dummy in my mouth, watching him make the supper. I knew my place, and what I had to do; only Matt could release me from my nappy, and it was up to me to make him want to do so. I was allowed to try anything, but I started with a bottle of champagne and went on from there. It really doesn't work, drinking champagne from a baby's bottle, but it's a lot better than milk. It doesn't really do to feed a baby with oysters, either, but sometimes one has to make compromises, and we both needed our sustenance; keeping an active toddler entertained can be so taxing. Two bottles of champagne later and Matt decided I needed changing. Then he decided to bathe me and put me to bed. In my befuddled state I decided that my next house would have to have a larger bath; one that would accommodate both of us in comfort, but eventually, in a state of complete euphoria, I allowed myself to be anointed and wrapped in a big terry nappy and fresh plastic pants before being popped into bed again with my arms around my big, warm, red-haired teddy bear. After all that champagne the nappy was a wise precaution, and I relaxed into its soft security and fell asleep almost immediately; one should, after all, always practise safe sex. The irony is that nappies are wasted on children, they really don't appreciate them as they should.

Thank you!

Sickening!

If I can pluck up the courage this time....

Nicolas Mattinen #3, JJ Piccinich #84, Daniel Bernhardt #20 and Kole Sherwood #67 of the London Knights watch from the bench during an OHL game against the Niagara IceDogs at the Meridian Centre in St Catharines, Ontario, Canada. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/picturegalleries/picturesoftheday/12143600/Pictures-of-the-day-6-February-2016.html?frame=3568864

Plans. The nursery at Pembroke was in full production once again. Gran had been asked what she wanted for her eightieth birthday, and had replied that most of all she wanted to see her new great-grandchildren. This meant a large family gathering for a long weekend, and young Hal's territory had been seriously invaded. For a two-year old, this was something of a crisis; he was used to being the youngest, the baby and the centre of attention, but now he had to make room for the two new arrivals, the daughters of Juliet and Vickie, and he didn't like it. Not only had several dozen of his favourite toys been evicted from their rightful places on the floor to make space for a very large cot, but his nursery was now full of strange women and their babies, and his changing table was being used for them when he really wanted a change himself. Eventually, after seeing poor Hal shifting his weight from leg to leg uncomfortably, I took pity on him, and finding the changing table was now free, I hoiked him up onto it and slid his trousers down. That had the advantage of restricting his legs and stopping him from running away after I removed his soaking wet nappy. I was a bit lost here - not that I am short of experience with nappies; I had, after all, worn them and wet them every night myself until I was eleven, and I had done so even more recently for pleasure - but these were of a different type and new to me. Unlike the traditional terry squares and pants, or the paper disposables, these were made of a soft cloth backed with a plastic lining with a cloth soaker inside, and fastened with poppers at each side. I knew that Claire was a fanatical environmentalist and despised disposable nappies, but I didn't realise that, when she said Hal was in cloth nappies, she meant something much more modern than I had worn as a child. I made a mental note to ask Claire about them, and got on with cleaning young Hal up and fitting a fresh nappy on to him from the stack under the table. Hal insisted on standing up through the process to accentuate the fact the he was now a big boy who could stand up while he had his nappy changed unlike the little babies who had to put up with the indignity of lying on their backs. It made it much more difficult, but then even little boys have their dignity and it should be respected. I lifted Hal down to the floor again and took stock of the situation. Juliet was nursing Sally, every move being watched carefully by her elder daughter, Holly, who at ten years old was anxious to learn about babies and how to raise them. Vicky was sitting beside them with her new daughter Caroline, both babies born during the same night in the same maternity unit, and thus subject to ceaseless comparison. I had heard the news via an SMS message as I was boarding the airliner for New York, and I nearly turned back so much did I want to be with them. My business was a cruel one; I spent the next two weeks in New York, went straight to Rome, and it was a month before I was released to dash down to Cornwall to see them. Now I was trying to make up for lost time. Hal wanted to go downstairs to see his parents, a process that required an escort through the toddler gate, so I took his hand and led him. Near the bottom of the stairs we met William and Viola, the eldest of that crop of children. William took his duties as Leading Child quite seriously, but they stopped short of nappy-changing, while Viola, only a few months away from the Tyranny of the Pin herself, and in headlong pursuit of teenager-ship, would never be seen doing anything so gross. As we approached they stood up from their seat on a middle stair, and Viola carefully avoided the suspect hand of her little brother; sticky little hands just didn't go with the latest teenage fashion. I asked them where the men were, and was directed to the library. Perhaps I should have given more warning of my entry. Peter was standing in the middle of the room dressed in just his underpants, and the other men were carefully examining his recent war-wounds, with Matt giving a commentary. Hal gazed open mouthed. "Are they changing Uncle Peter's nappy?" he managed at last, to general amusement as Peter hastily hoisted his trousers and reached for his shirt. "No, dear," I managed at last, "Uncle Peter is a bit too old for nappies." Peter looked at me and winked, and I gave him my brightest smile; we both had memories. Passing Hal over to the lap of his father, Percy, with the assurance that he was freshly changed and thus unlikely to leak, I decided to make myself useful in the kitchen where tea was being prepared. I found Claire in there with Maria, her Filipino cook and housemaid, in the throes of preparing a huge range of delicacies. My offers of help were countered by claims that it was "nearly all done", which I suspect were a tactful defence of their territory. Standing in the corner was their new au-pair girl, Elke, who looked after Hal during the day while Claire was rebuilding her legal career. I took a long look at Elke, a tall, slender, blonde Estonian girl, liberally sprinkled with flour from the baking, and wondered how Claire ever trusted her husband alone with her, and how long it would be before Elke got de-floured. Claire asked me where Hal was, as he was overdue for a change. I was able to reassure her that Hal had indeed been changed and was now on his father's lap, which duly pleased her. As we carried the tea-trays to the dining room I asked her about the new type of nappy which Hal was wearing and got the full story from her. She said all the usual things about landfill, and added the fact that washing them was no trouble really, providing one had a decent washing machine. I caught sight of Maria's face in the background, which displayed exactly what the "decent washing machine" actually thought of this. Claire went on to say that she had a huge stock of nappies and pants and would hang onto them for the time when I had children. That shut me up for a moment; it was a point of contention, one of many for which I was going to have to hack out a solution. Yes, I loved Matt and wanted to share my life with him, and yes, I would like to have children of my own, but having a baby would take me off the catwalk in my peak earning years, and that would cost - probably millions. When I had told my manager Julian about my engagement, he had nervously asked if I was already pregnant. I had assured him that I was not; I believed in taking a thoroughly professional approach to my work and falling pregnant was not a part of next year's financial plan, whereupon Julian was visibly relieved. I got him to fetch me another two packs of disposables for my own use on the strength of it; there was going to be much partying between now and the New Year, and I needed to be well stocked up for the necessary precautions I would have to take afterwards. All told, my feelings about motherhood were in oscillation; one moment I was Up, looking at those tiny hands and rosebud lips, felling that warm little body in my arms, billing and cooing like the best of them in the hope of getting a smile, the next I was Down, with a stinky nappy being changed on a screaming brat. I had always thought marriage was a culmination, a natural thing. Now I was realising that it meant the splicing of two very different lifestyles and was going to take a lot of effort to make it work; I wasn't the kind of person who could just leave it all to their glands. We took the tea things into the lounge, and then went to round up the children. We found them involved in the usual children's game at Pembroke - looking for the legendary Black Jack Sinclair's pirate treasure which was supposed to be hidden in the house somewhere, but had evaded the best efforts of generations of children to find. This time we managed to break up the party just before they broke up the floorboards, where there was an interesting creak, and herded the children back into the lounge for yet another meal. The children's day ended with the rituals of bathing and bedding, but the adults continued later into the evening, and for once both Viola and William, the oldest children, were allowed to stay up late with us. They were now visibly entering puberty, getting long in the limb, and William's voice was breaking with a series of squeaks and growls. The conversation turned to Matt and I and our wedding plans, and more important, where we were going to live. Matt was fed up with general practice in rural Devon, and was looking for bigger challenges. At one point I had, half jokingly, said that I would marry him if he joined the Navy, and he had taken me up on that. Now I was not quite so sure - we had to live somewhere, and my job was London-orientated, while the Navy could, and probably would, send Matt anywhere. I was quietly trying to back-track on the idea, but I was now heavily outnumbered by the three notoriously anchor-faced naval officers in the family, as well as Matt himself who saw the chances of doing what he called "real" medicine - mending broken bodies - in the navy, as opposed to dishing out antibiotics for sniffles in general practice. I knew I had lost that one so just for once I kept quiet. My problem was the old one. I could live almost anywhere, but I didn't want to lose my little mews house in London. Not only was it worth a fortune, but one major supporting wall was covered with a mural by Spike of me sitting on the front of the Lotus wearing a romper over a nappy, and that irremovable artwork was probably worth more than the house: not least because of its unique subject matter, but also its provenance and association. I hadn't the heart to paint over it, it was Spike's favourite, and the destruction of value would have jarred with my finely-tuned business sense. I also found it, even now, to be a bit of a turn-on. I would have to wait and see what the Navy could offer Matt. Suddenly a thought occurred to me: if he could get posted to Culdrose, with the rest of my family, now that would be ideal. It would take an awful lot of fixing, but then Granpa, retired Admiral that he was, had been notorious as a fixer and still had many contacts amongst the senior bits of the Navy. I would have to float the idea with him, and see what could be done. With that in mind, I began to feel a bit easier. Now I could see myself retaining my London pad, my secret mural, and, even more so, my secret nursery in the attic. I snuggled up closer to Matt and rested my head on his shoulder. That reminded me; those nappies that Hal was wearing. PUL all-in-ones Claire had called them. I wonder where I could get some made in my size?

Here's a new one, although I don't think this is the first time it has happened. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/italy/12104288/Italian-woman-asks-for-help-from-firefighters-after-losing-keys-to-her-chastity-belt.html They say that both the woman and the firemen were embarrassed.

Onesies tend to be a bit narrower though the crutch so they do not come into contact with the leg elastics and wick the wetness out.

Such diaper covers - or pants are actually very easy to make; if you look in my photo albums you will see several overpants that I have made, along with rompers and sleepers.