The patter of tiny feet…

The dust seems to have settled on the furore surrounding Elton and David's recent new arrival – in the media and world at large, at least. I wish that things were as settled here in the flat! Ever since the news broke, Noel and Biggins have been like broody hens, clucking around the place talking nothing but babies and nappies or, as Noel will insist, diapers.

Their application to a Romanian surrogacy service (via www.kids4u.ro/omi-polone) appears to be going well. They've had numerous emails from Mrs Pederfilov at the agency and have paid the prospective mother an advance on her expenses of £12,000. This, apparently, guarantees them three full cycles of fertilisation. The big issue now, if you'll forgive the pun, is whose sperm will be used to inaugurate this great miracle of life. After much to-ing and fro-ing it was finally decided that a mixture would be used to, if you'll pardon the expression, allow the best man to win.

So, when little Asperger/Cheryl/Anton/Kara/Artem (name tbc) finally boards the EasyJet from Bucharest, we shall be relying solely on the early development of familial attributes to identify its 'natural' parentage. Let's hope, dear reader, that the little blot does not arrive with a neatly trimmed goatee and 'tache…