April 29th 2011 and 1993

It was the Royal Wedding, and we had a street party. It was also Ario's 18th birthday. The Wedding was fun to watch, the street party a good show of neighbourly solidarity, but the birthday was the highlight.

18 years ago we were living in Dalston (Hackney), and when the contractions started my friend Kim came in her car to pick Youssef and I up and drive us to the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. Ario was born at 4pm-ish, in a labour room seemingly crowded with people, including my sister Anne Louise, 2 or 3 midwives, a pediatrician, a doctor and a few others - all there to watch (and possibly help with) Ario's arrival feet first. Because he was breech and he was being born 'naturally', the doctor suggested that I should give birth standing up, to give gravity a chance to help out. 'Standing up' is a loose term for being supported on either side by Anne Louise and a midwife like an boxer coming out of the ring after a knock out. My legs had little to do with it.

 Anyway, 18 years on, Mariam and I watched Ario unwrap his presents with one eye on the royal wedding and another eye on the tomato tart in the oven for the street party.

Who would have thought such an ugly little thing would turn into a lovely tall, polite, handsome, gifted, and quiet spoken young man? I wish Youssef could see him now.

Then we went out to the street party, armed with the piping hot tomato tart.