After being more than a week overdue, the eventual arrival of Finley Jacob Willis was rather hurried. Motorists on their way to work the other Wednesday may have briefly seen a black Ford Focus loom into their rear view mirror.

If they had looked right as the car went past at an inappropriate place they may have caught a glimpse of a woman biting the dashboard. We fell into the welcoming arms of a Friarage midwife and a little over an hour later he popped out.

At a podgy 9lb, he's a bit of a porker. He has baby boobs and we didn't see his neck for three days. Still, he came out screaming and as pink as a lobster, which the midwife said was good. She and others have commented on his large hands and feet. This did get me thinking as mine are not at all oversized, but I was quickly reassured when I saw the size of his titchy babyhood. That's my boy.

We were late because we weren't sure this was the real thing. It was not because I knocked out a 350-word report on a Richmondshire District Council meeting before we left. In my defence... okay I have no defence, but I'd spent four hours the night before watching the cogs of local democracy turn ever so slowly and I was damned if it was going to be for nowt.

The first night was fairly hellish. None of us got much sleep. I did manage to get him quiet for a few minutes. Sarah, dozing in the other room, later confessed she though I might have done a 'Louise Woodward' but she was too tired to care and didn't come and check.

Since then things have improved with something approaching a routine settling on the house. He cries and we comfort him, he poos and we change his nappy, he sleeps and we're grateful he's not crying or pooing.

The boys have taken the arrival of their little brother in their stride. They seem to be of the opinion that anyone who farts as often and with so little regard for good manners is okay by them.