“We have become a grandmother,” said Margaret Thatcher on the birth of her first grandchild in March, 1989.
In the interview that followed, the Prime Minister said her grandson Michael was well, keeping as far as possible to the third person plural nominative. That is to say, she used the royal ‘we’. (Corny old jokes on a postcard please to: The Hippodrome Music Hall, Ipswich, AD 1905.)
I’m not even going to try. George James was born on September 11, just before 10pm, weighing 8lb 5oz, a healthy baby boy who has since developed a touch of jaundice and turned a bit orange, making him, George’s father (our son, Mark) says, a true Essex baby.
My husband and I (I thought you weren’t going to go regal on me, Lynne. Ed) went to see the tiny lad the following day and he slept throughout. His eye colour is alleged to be blue-turning-brown. When we asked Mark if it would be okay to pop over after work to see them now they’re all back home, he drily replied that we could come any time... four o’clock in the morning would be fine as they would all be up.
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