"I find it hard to believe that we're the product of just eggs and sperm," says M loudly as the credits roll at the end of Big Brother's Little Brother, thus awakening me from the Geoffrey Macnab Rank biography I've been buried in today.
"Eh?"
"How can it be true? I think that something like an unseen bolt of lightning hits when the sperm hits the egg and wherever we live in the atmosphere we appear in the lightning. That's how come people are so different from their parents. It's just like Monkey. The egg only cracks at the beginning of Monkey when it's hit by lightning. It was there for hundreds of years without hatching up to that point."
Darwin's got nothing on this girl, who, incidentally, was herself born from an egg on a mountain top and educated by a herd of Catholics at Hull's finest school.
"It's not a Catholic belief. It's my personal belief."
M-ism. You read it here first. I am putting it all down to a glass of el cheapo Red Star vodka that passed m'loved one's lips earlier today.
"It's not a drink thing either. Don't tell everyone I drink. I hardly ever drink."
Listening: Deep Purple - Come Taste The Band.
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