'My husband, an investment banker who works for one of the better-known firms, was working (late at night) when I finally went into labour.

He first refused to believe that the big moment had actually arrived (it apparently came at an inconvenient time as he was working on an important pitch). A friend of ours, in fact, had to get on the telephone to implore him to come home and take me to the hospital. In the end, we agreed to meet him there.

When he did finally show, he impatiently asked the nurse how long the labour process would take. On finding out that it could be several hours, he asked whether he could pay more (I was in a private room) to get things moving more quickly!

He was also extremely rude to the medical orderly who routinely (and not unreasonably) asked if we had a 'Birth Plan'. 'Birth Plan!', he shouted. 'What do we need a 'Birth Plan' for - haven't you guys done this kind of thing before ?'. The orderly nodded. 'So why do you need a bloody 'plan', then' ?'.

After what seemed an eternity (not helped by his constant requests for me to 'get a move on'), I was wheeled into the delivery room. My husband reluctantly followed. He had to be told no less than four times to turn his mobile phone off. Then the fun started.

Peter (that's what I call him when I'm not angry with him) had only attended one antenatal class (and that under sufferance as he said he was too busy). And that ended early after he walked out, claiming that the guy who ran the class was a 'communist' for suggesting that, in the interests of the environment, we should use proper cloth nappies, rather than disposable ones!

The delivery itself wasn't easy, and Peter was predictably useless, for the most part looking forlornly at his now turned-off mobile phone. In the end the delivery team had to resort to using forceps, which are made of stainless steel and have curved ends - they look a bit like a large pair of kitchen tongs. The forceps are in two parts, and each part is gently placed around either side of the baby's head and fixed in place, so they won't slip. As you get your next contraction, you push and out pops the baby, usually fairly quickly. One downside of this procedure, however, is that the baby's head often comes out temporarily misshaped (like a character in the film Coneheads, as Peter later described it). And Peter, of course, wasn't prepared for this.

'What the Hell is wrong with his head ?', he screamed. 'You've given birth to f.cking ET!!. Christ, I can't take that back to show my parents. Stick it back in!!!'. He then spent the next few minutes trying to get the nurses (when they had other priorities) to reassure him that 'something could be done with the head'. Once reassured, he settled back down until he saw the hospital team take out the afterbirth. 'It's f.cking twins!', he feebly joked. No-one was laughing.

I was naturally exhausted, and remember being wheeled back to my room. When I awoke a couple of hours later, Peter had left. Unsurprisingly, he was back at the office working on his pitch. Thankfully, he's a better investment banker than he is a husband'.

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