Robert Webb

06.04.09

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Anybody who saw the rather snug-fitting, apparently sprayed-on costume that I wore to perform a Flashdance routine for Let's Dance for Comic Relief may be surprised to learn that I've successfully made a woman pregnant. Actually, for all I know, the surprise is that I'm in the business of having sex with women at all, but sophisticated readers will already know that straight men can do pirouettes with the best of 'em. Anyway, the good news is that the woman in question happens to be my wife and her pregnancy was all part of a crazy plan we hatched together some months ago.

These then (touching wood, turning around and spitting at the same time - ugh, I've made a bit of a mess in here) are my final few weeks of Not Being a Father. Now, it has been made very clear to me that this period is to be cherished. Whenever I tell people who are themselves parents that I'm about to be a dad for the first time they give me a special look that scares the hell out of me. The look is basically a mixture of goodwill and extreme pity; it says, 'It's going to be wonderful and you have no idea what's about to hit you. I'm very happy for you and you are now massively in the shit. Your life is just beginning and your life is over. Well done and take cover.' Remarkably, there's even a whiff of guilt in there, too: 'We're glad that you're joining our gang and very sorry that our gang is so rubbish. Is there anything we can do to make this easier for you? Would you like a cake?'

So anyway, I should answer the question that inspires all good diaries: 'What have I been doing this week?' This week I have been indulging in the two activities unique to Not Being a Father. I have been mainly drinking and sleeping. In fact I'd say that I've been drinking and sleeping for England. This doesn't always go down very well at home. Abigail isn't supposed to drink much, and as for sleeping - it turns out that 11pm is usually when our unborn daughter decides to start kicking the heck out of her mother's internal organs. It's difficult to know what to do when your wife is being kneed in the cervix. Especially when you're completely drunk and asleep.

In between the drinking and sleeping I did a weird photo shoot for Heat magazine. I can't say I'm much of a fan of Heat (I won't start ranting about why this is - this isn't Twitter) but it was for Comic Relief so that's officially fine.

Comic Relief is auctioning off various costumes from Red Nose Night and Let's Dance and, to promote this, they naturally got me to dress up as Madonna. The 'big idea' was to do a parody of her fishnet and knickers pictures for Louis Vuitton. I don't mean to make a habit of cross-dressing, publicly or otherwise, but it really does take an amazing amount of time to get that show on the road. I was fascinated and relieved to find that four pairs of see-through pants can achieve the same effect as one pair of opaque ones. At the time of writing, my leotard (with full accessories) commanded a healthy price but you could still pick up Les Dennis's dancing shoes for a fiver. Poor bloke - is there no end to his humiliation? Am I not helping? Why can't something bad happen to Jeremy Kyle instead? Les has suffered enough.

Great news. Both Peep Show and That Mitchell and Webb Look have been nominated for television's BAFTAs later this month. Worse news. David Mitchell has been nominated for best comedy performance and I... have not. Ah well. Peep Show has always been a bit more about his character than mine so I can see the logic. Notice that I don't for a second entertain the notion that he actually is a better performer than me. We both think we're better than the other. It might seem like an odd or unfriendly thought system but it's worked for 16 years so let's not examine it too closely.

Thrillingly, I've been asked to present an award. At least I was thrilled until I started to put an appalling two and two together. They haven't told me which category. Are they really going to ask me to give David a sodding BAFTA for doing the same job as me? Watch out for a fake smile that would be worthy of an award itself.

Idly speculating what I'll think of my Flashdance routine in a couple of years' time when the days of Not Being a Father are a distant memory. I'll probably be thinking, 'That guy looks like he's had a good night's sleep.' But maybe also, 'Poor chap hasn't met his daughter yet. Doesn't he look lonely?'

A new series of That Mitchell and Webb Look will be on BBC next month