I was looking around for some medieval woodcut clip art (I know, my interests are a little eclectic) and I felt drawn to this one which depicts medieval woman taking a urine specimen to her doctor. 🙂 Perhaps this is a depiction of the earliest pregnancy test? The doc looks a little scary in his little booth in his fancy robes and scary tools hanging on the wall, scrutinising her flask of wee. She waits with her little basket to get her wee wee returned. I think 21st Century pregnant woman has it ok so I now know not to complain about my recent visit to a disinterested doctor – it could be worse!

Woman visiting a doctor, who examines her urine flask; from the Mer des Hystoires, Paris 1488-89.

Source: http://www.godecookery.com/clipart/clart.htm

For at least a week now I have been feeling unmistakable kicking movements from within. I’m at 20 weeks. At first, they were quite subtle and I wasn’t too sure if was the baby bending it like Beckham, or my digestive system making waves.

Now I quite clearly have the occassional five-a-side-football game going on and can even get a wriggle by request by lying on my back. Driving to work listening to Wolfmother caused the little one to mimick a mosh pit. Glad to see the newbie leans towards having an indie taste in music.

I also relented to the belly and went into a maternity clothese store today. It felt like entering a masonic hall (masonry is very big in my family tree so I get grew up with the vibe). There were other new initiates there – girls who had bellies too. I was not alone! At first, it all felt alien. I meekly touched all the fabrics and wandered around feeling lost, wondering if these special ceremonial robes were meant for me.

The helpful assistant must have seen my lost look and took me under her wing. She was very kind to me, and never once laughed at my newbie questions. She even showed me how to operate the special garments.

My initiation was complete when I entering the changing chambers with my three sacred extendable garments. I put them onto my body, stepped out and was immediately converted into a state of ancient comfyness. I heard equally jubilant cries from other change rooms as we all exclaimed about how lovely it was to have something that didn’t maraude the belly like a clawing tiger – and instead, was like a soft fluffy cloud cocooning the midriff.

I am still size 8 which helps with the psychology of not knowing where to begin with selecting clothes for my metamorphosis. I tried bigger normal sizes and ended up with a builders bum crack look every time I needed to reach ground level. I now know the secret of the extendable trouser – it is the gateway to eternal comfort.

The Grand Lodge Mistress (the helpful assistant) passed on some ancient knowledge, obviously passed down from a generation of wise crones. It was the startling revelation that my upper body half had grown all it would. What? I’ve only just migrated to a ‘B’ cup after a life of ‘A’ and I’ve still got space to fill in those B size chambers. I thought I was going to progress through the ranks of sacred cups, finally filling the largest of holy chalices – being award a temporary ‘bosom’.

My ideas for writing a PHD thesis on the age old question: “How does Lara Croft run and crawl through tombs with those bazookas?” seems all but lost.

I’ve added a new category after a friend suggested that I should keep a pregnancy diary for recording all the weird bits of this strange transformation of body and mind. I’ve already missed providing you with the gory details of how many times I was sick, what made me sick and so on, (lucky reader!) so instead, perhaps I can share with you my over all description of the journey.

It’s what I like to call: Angela’s Divine Comedy – a first pregnancy

Although pregnancy is sectioned up into three trimesters known as the 1st, 2nd and 3rd, I like to be a little more descriptive in my naming. If you are familiar with Dante’s epic poem, ‘The Divine Comedy’ you’ll know that it is composed of three parts – Inferno (Hell), Purgatorio (Purgatory), and Paradiso (Paradise). I liken this experience to the three trimesters of pregnancy. Let me explain:

Inferno – Hell (1st trimester)

The shock of the news so early puts you in the first circle of hell, a state of limbo. Am I pregnant or aren’t I? The shock was particularly evident for me as my plan of “becoming a mother in my 30s” was realised 3 days after I turned 30.

Shortly after, “the signs” start to become apparent. Lustful food cravings for roast chickens and evil fried foods take you into the second circle of hell – gluttony – and the third circle – revenge where you eat your husbands food portions to get back at him for all those times he offered to “share” your dessert and then ate the biggest portion.

You start to push your great weight onto others, bouncing off your husband’s beer belly when hugging. You have entered the Fourth Circle of hell. Here you start to want for useless baby paraphernalia and stare eagerly at personal Doppler and other prenatal devices where you can email the sound of your foetus’ heart to your friends. The mere shreds of common sense that remain are the only thing that stop you spending money.

The fifth circle now – hell of the slothful, – you lie on the settee, dozing in and out of what feels like an eternal sleep, waking only to press buttons on the tv remote control or consume more roast chicken.

Next, you get a hot at night and feel trapped in flames, Dante’s sixth circle of hell becomes a searing reality. You sweat – and not like a sexy model – like a cow in calf.

The seventh circle, the hunger peaks and you turn violent if anyone tries to intercept your passage to food sources. For the first time in your life you may find yourself grabbing for the last edible item in a shared food situation, where previously you would have politely left the last morsel.

The eighth circle, you feel you belong here along with the fraudulent as you sip water from beer bottles and make excuses for your growing belly and frequent toilet trips. You skulk around under baggy shirts and hide under your desk so that you will not be spotted.

Finally, the ninth circle of hell, bodily chaos ensues as freezing jelly is rubbed onto your belly and your bump is examined before hopefully getting the all clear to make the transition into the second phase – purgatory. You no longer keep secrets and finally can let your belly hang out.

Purgatory (2nd trimester)

Congratulations, you have survived the depths of hell and now face Mount Purgatory which is literally growing where your flat belly used to be. You start becoming attracted to overly sentimental music and take advice on listening to Mozart to increase your baby’s intellectual power. It makes sense.

You reach the gate of purgatory and meet your first midwife, an angel who acknowledges that your bump is becoming a mountain and people start to label you with a ‘P’ for pregnant. You are told not to look back and that the purgatory will be better than hell. The sickness will soon stop.

You find that purgatory purges you of many of the sins of hell:

1. Carrying your bump teaches you not to be too proud and start to wear anything at all that is comfortable, whether stylish or not.

2. You stop rebelling against maternity clothing stores and enter one, rejoicing in the feeling of elasticated waists.

3. Your wrath is purged as you no longer glare at smokers, but avoid pubs altogether because you can’t even drink beer.

4. You purge your slothfulness as your energy returns and you find that you can still almost run in a girlie pregnant way.

5. Avarice and lust is purged as the cravings cease and you wander into the gardens of earthly delights and pick fruits instead of burgers.

But yet – purgatory brings new lessons:

1. Your pelvis starts to move, not in an Elvis way, but it clicks in a wrong sort of way

2. You get fat ankles and your wrists decide that carpal tunnel syndrome is the best way for you to enjoy and appreciate your pregnancy

3. Brain cells dissipate entirely. Simple understandings like the difference between traveling clockwise and anticlockwise elude you; making even the tiniest decisions become epic choices.

4. The most intellectual stimulation you can manage after work is deducing whether the motion in your belly is wind or baby movement.

As I’m still in purgatory, you’ll have to read subsequent posts to find out what happens next on the journey towards the promise of the third phase – paradiso. It does exist, it does!

On New Years Eve 2006, I turned 30. Turning 30 should be a rite of passage, rather
than just the turning of another calendar page. I wanted to celebrate making
it to 30 with my inner child well and truly intact – in fact it’s more of
an outer child – I’m not embarrassed by it. Having never had a birthday party
before and planning to never have one again, I decided to fulfil my dream
of writing my own murder mystery dinner party. I wanted to celebrate my ‘alleged’
maturity in this way, in the hope of sparking a night of hilarity for friends
and family. I spent four months plotting, scheming and researching poisons
and murders, and then the final few weeks of writing, rummaging around charity
shops for costumes and finally forging birth and death certificates. I began
to feel truly evil as I crafted the ultimate 19th Century colonial Raj murder
set in the beautiful Raj-themed surrounds of the Bombay Bicycle Club Indian restaurant.

So intense was my creative fervor that I had to be brought into a line a few
times by my trusty editor and host extraordinaire, Richard – who pointed out
that no one would give a shit about the finer details of 19th Century forensic
science or whether the font I used on the label of poison was from the correct
century. I made and gathered props and arranged costumes – it was an epic
production. These photographs are a shrine to my willing family, friends and suspects who provided
the real entertainment on the night.

Postnote: Little Fionna was even there, just a few days old and growing in my belly.

Setting the Scene

The start of the night

Guests all waited in the Riki Tiki Bar for the Maharajah to arrive for his 60th
Birthday party. Dramatically, Uncle Gupta ordered the music in the bar to
be lowered. The palace butler, Percival Atkins informed the host,
Uncle Gupta that the Maharajah would not be attending his own party,
because he was … dead! But not just dead … he had been murdered.

Percival Atkins and Uncle Gupta announce a most heinous crime,
just before Percival’s mustache tragically fell into his beer.

Soothsayer and gypsy fortune teller Madame Rosa was also on hand to break
the shocking news about the murder. Her
psychic skills meant that she knew about the murder before anyone.

Luckily for the guests, an esteemed inspector was on the guest list, Inspector
Hector Munro of Scotland Yard sits at the top of the table.Nobody
is sure exactly what he was smoking in his pipe, but it certainly made
him popular with lovely ladies in red.

The Murder victim

The Maharajah, Shah Pushkar was found dead in his private quarters, apparently poisoned via his sherry. There were 8 suspects, all extremely dodgy types.

Percival Atkins – Palace butler

Frederick Batty – Spice trader

Sir Henry Blenkensop – Artifact collector

Clarissa De Vere – Rich widow & mistress

Dugmore – Palace gardener

Grace Hinton – Head of housekeeping staff

Constance Ogilvie – Circus performer
Quentin Norrell – Botanist

Description of the crime scene

The butler, Percival found the Maharajah dead in his armchair.

An empty carafe of sherry and two goblets are on a table next to the

body.

The Maharajah’s ceremonial sword is missing.

An empty bottle was found

The evidence

The Interrogations

Uncle Gupta was on hand to organise the progress of the interrogations. He was a master of the ceremony, his deft timekeeping was inspirational and vital to the whole evening.
Inspector Munro distributed evidence and Madame Rosa conducted tarot
readings of suspects, and general fortune telling to guests, sometimes containing hidden clues.Guests had to question all 8 suspects to hone their suspicions, and determine
whether their motives were strong enough to murder the Maharajah.

The following photographs were taken during some of the interrogations. The housekeeper, Grace Hinton and butler, Percival Atkins seem to be suspiciously celebratory during the interrogations. Perhaps they worked together to kill the Maharajah and are now celebrating the crime?

This photograph shows rich widow, Clarissa de Vere suspiciously lookingunder the table to hide her face. Note also the three dodgy characters on the end of the row, the botanist Quentin Norrell, circus performer femme fatale Constance Ogilvie and perhaps dodgiest of all, Sir Henry Blenkensop, the artifact collector.

Extremely disturbing moustache events took place throughout the interrogations.
Shockingly, Uncle Gupta’s moustache is found on Madame Rosa’s Peroni as shown
above. Witnesses saw the bearded Madame Rosa allegedly smooching Uncle Gupta at once
stage.

Moustaches also fell into beers, or were put there!. The most likely lads perpetrating this mini-crime were the magicians who weren’t suspects, but acted very suspicious nonetheless

Madame Rosa used her extensive tarot reading skills to expose the true nature of all the suspects. This photograph shows Quentin Norrell and Constance Ogilive quaking with fear in sheer terror of the great power of soothsayer Madame Rosa.

Eeerily, Sir Henry Blenkensop’s gift for lying about doping the Maharajah and stealing his sword is caught out on camera. The photograph shows Sir Henry to the eye of Madame Rosa, gifted at viewing aura’s. To Madame Rosa, Sir Henry appears as a ghostly transparent being.

Some guests focused intently on their interrogations and were rewarded by guessing the real murderer.

Others, such as the lovely ladies attached to Sir Henry Blenkensop and Inspector Hector found the murder amusing.

Spice trader, and king of dodgy investments, Frederick Batty is shown here in the foreground. Dugmore, the palace gardener appears here suspiciously without his hat, probably because of the ruthless interrogation being performed by Inspector Munro, to his left. Again the ghostly image of Sir Henry Blenkensop haunts the ladies in red at the end of the table.

Again, rich widow Clarissa de Vere hides herself whilst being interrogated by a guest. No wonder she was one of the most popular suspects when it came to naming the murderer.

Madame Rosa unexpectedly enters a psychic trance and channels and ancient spirit when sitting next to this guest. This was just after Inspector Munro revealed that the death certificate which was now available showed that the Maharajah died from asphyxiation and not from the poison. Someone had smothered him!

As the interrogations draw to a close, Frederick Batty tries to avoid
questions from a nearby guest by pretending to read.

In the background a guest literally points an accusing finger at housekeeper
Grace Hinton.

The verdict

So who was the murderer?

The most popular suspects were Sir Henry Blenkensop, the thief
and artifact collector and Clarrissa de Vere, the rich widow,
mistress to the Maharajaha. Clarissa had three previous husband who
died in mysterious circumstances. Although it was revealed that Sir
Henry did indeed drug the Maharajaha, he did this only to steal his
large ancient sword.

The true murderer was Dugmore, the quiet gardener. The love letter
from the mysterious ‘C’ was not from Constance or Clarissa, but Clara,
Dugmore’s wife. Only a few well hidden clues revealed Clara’s name.

Dugmorehad found the love letter from his wife to the Maharajah. In a fit
of rage, Dugmore marched to the Maharajah’s room. Finding him drunk
on sherry (doped too – but this was not known by Dugmore), Dugmore
was further infuriated when the Maharajah murmured Clara’s name. Dugmore
grabbed a cushion and held in on the Maharajah’s face until he stopped
breathing.

Inspector Hector Munro promptly arrested Dugmore, which was a surprising
feat given that the Inspector had been seen stuffing moustaches and
Datura leaves into his pipe all night. It was any wonder that he could
stand, never mind apprehend the frightening murderer Dugmore.

The photo below shows how timely the arrest was, as Dugmore’s evil grin
shows that he has selected his next murder victim, innocent guest and friend
of Clarrisa de Vere.

Guests, you can all rest a little safer at night, knowing that out of 26 of
you, two brilliant detective minds in amongst you identified the murderer.
Well done.

The aftermath

Worryingly, although justice was delivered, Uncle Gupta’s moustache and beard
continued to perpetrate crimes later that night, as these shocking photographs reveal.

.