Oh dear. It is alarming to be the mother of fictional character, especially when she is Catriona (pronounced Katreena, as you can tell people at Book Club). Catriona is much taller than me, and leaner, and has green eyes and a DPhil from Cambridge and is fluent in German and horribly sardonic and insists on speaking English as if she grew up in some Edinburgh slum. But here she is, and she's mine, and what can I do?
Me: Well, Catriona, it took forever and I thought I would die, but you're born.
Catriona: Thank you, mother.
Me: Did you, um, bring Denis with you?
Catriona (sardonic smile): Why ever do you ask?
Me: I think I'll put the kettle on.