SHELLEY WRIGHT'S COLUMN

THERE'S less than 24 frenzied hours to go until Christmas Day dawns but my friend got the best present anyone could wish for on Sunday when she gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl.

Now as regulars readers of this column have enjoyed regular updates on what must surely be one of the area's most famous pregnancies, I feel it's only fair to bring this particular Christmas story to it's conclusion and fill you in on the birth.

It's not quite what I had in mind, I must say, but as I didn't make it to the Lancashire Evening Telegraph Christmas do on Saturday night it's the only set of gory details I have.

And as it's Christmas I thought a story of a baby being born was appropriate - though being born at the same time of year is where any similarities between the immaculate conception and apparently trouble-free stable birth of baby Jesus and the fraught scene in Burnley's Edith Watson maternity unit on Sunday end I think.

Luckily, I didn't make it to that particular prestigious event either, though I was worried at one point when my friend asked me to do a spot of pre-babysitting last week while her partner was away.

I spent each day on 24-hour stand-by, constantly worrying about being called into midnight midwife mode despite the fact people kept telling me I would be OK in an emergency because I'd been with her on the tour of the labour ward last month. "So I know my Von Teuse from my forceps," I replied, "doesn't make me Florence Nightingale you know."

And the thing was it was dark that night and I wasn't overly sure I would find the hospital again if my friend found herself temporarily blinded by the fear of giving birth.

I kept wondering if I would be left to deliver little Meghann Niamh Leaver down a side street between Simonstone and Burnley, like a remake of that taxi scene between Don Brennan and Sally Webster in Coronation Street.

And after hearing how my friend's waters broke like the banks of the River Ribble in a storm as she lay in bed, I don't think my Volkswagen upholstery would ever have been the same again.

I don't think my friend's life will be, that's for sure.

Or mine after spending an hour circling the hospital looking for a parking space on Tuesday afternoon.

I mean, never mind making it to the ward before the end of visiting time, I thought I may never be seen again after driving through each of four pay and display car parks five times.

I eventually spotted a piece of wasteland the other side of some wrought-iron railings just outside the hospital grounds but it soon became apparent that spotting it and getting to it were two entirely different things as I disappeared through a maze of one way streets and dead-ends in a bid to get ten feet to the right. Twenty minutes later and I knew I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when I came out of a back alley to face the Focus Do It All store five miles away from the hospital.

Goodness knows what would have happened had I been ferrying my friend mid-labour but it may have involved pulling into the hardware aisle pronto and rigging up a makeshift bed Johnny Wrongo-style from some two by four.

Anyway, luckily it didn't come to that and when I finally met Meghann Niamh she was sound asleep and beautifully wrapped in Baby Gap, just as I requested.

Hopefully some other requests will be granted in the morning, though as I haven't been that good this year I'm not expecting much.

And I'm not sure if Robbie Williams could fit under my tree anyway.

Merry Christmas.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.