I am punctual.

Let me start right at the beginning, to explain. The beginning of me. Well, not right at the beginning, of course, nobody likes to think of their parents having done the deed to create them, do they? I know mine, for certain, only did ‘that’ twice. One time for my sister, one time for me. Of course.

Anyway, back to the point. As the story goes (I can’t absolutely verify it, even though I was there), I was due on the second of February. That morning my mother went into labour and trundled off to the local hospital in that dusty Free State town and read her historical novel until I showed up, just after the ward staff delivered lunch. 1pm on my due date.

My father ate her lunch while she had me, it being before the hands-on-daddy days.

See? I told you I was punctual.

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