The baptism of Barbara Benedetta Borgese

An impressive introduction to a grouchy little git, with a permafrown - What a perfect child! The full implication of the FDG's pretty pink invite only sinks in later.... not only do I break out in panic at the thought of having to mingle with strangers, and do it with some modicum of having acquired the appropriate social skills, I have never actually been to a christening before, despite my smattering of godchildren, fake and otherwise. Frantic questions as to what would be considered appropriate attire for such a momentous occasion, why a silver spoon would be an uplifting gift elicit entirely unhelpful responses from the likes of Jimmy C and slightly better ones from the mother of my first fake goddaughter. My plans to import exotica from India is scuppered by my couriers negligent approach to going to Bangalore for a business meeting and I'm left to fend for myself.

Sunday dawns with the promise of continued sunshine and a healthy debate ensues over the appropriateness of a halter neck at church, footwear and the most fetching colour. I astound myself with ensemble that includes hot pink high heels, pashmina and clutch bag and sally forth for my first encounter of a spiritual kind (I was deemed 'unsuitable' to offer any sort of spiritual guidance to my first fake godchild, and given the bent of my life of late, my resentment at that slight has abated considerably). The tinny announcement as we pull into Baker Street turns my insouciance into scowling annoyance as I anxiously assess alternate routes to get me to the church on time. A 20 minute journey turns into an hour long one, not intended for pretty pink shoes, via the scenic route of the taxi stand at St. Pancreas. But, I am in time!

I wonder just how sweaty and windswept I look as I ignore the suspiciously wary glances of the buxom, high heeled ladies outside the church, and head inside. Thankfully, I barely have time to take in the vastness of the interior when I hear my FDG bearing down on me. Hallelujah! An introduction to Marushka bolsters my confidence and the day begins to look less fraught. I look around in appreciation somewhat confused at the sheer numbers filling the pews, and wonder why so many people have brought their babies all dressed ready to be dunked. The penny makes nary a move when the FDG urges us to move behind so we’re sat with the family. It is a bit odd that her mom and sister are so far behind… but once again, I’m distracted by the sight of bare shoulders, backs and chests.

I struggle to keep my mouth shut at the sight of a pair of lactating breasts spilling out of a flimsy bit of jersey – the classic chav strapless, unsure whether Jesus would find the display offensive, but curious about gravity. Marushka agrees and we stare unabashedly as more of the same totter by, my mouth giving way at the sight of a 52DD display, long into menopause, most disturbingly thrust up as cleavage of the most frightening sort. I have never seen so many massively boobed women gathered in a single place anywhere, let alone a place of worship. Anna does have some eclectic friends…… The smiley priests take the floor and Cha Ching…! the penny finally does drop, as they proceed with roll call and I realise the big boobied clan belong to another baby. Who knew it was going to be an assembly line of tots waiting to be sprinkled?

5 babies, 2 priests, 10 parents, 16-18 godparents and a bevy of assorted family, friends and wailing children. All is revealed (no pun intended!). BB, Maria, Lucrezia, Daniel and an older boy dwarfed by the splendour of the beautiful interiors. The ceremony proceeds, the choir and organ resounding through the cavernous hall and you can’t help but beam at the sight of the scowling little face. Corrine reads beautifully, prayers are said and the children are dunked in the holy water. The little boy forgoes his tears at having an impromptu hair wash when he’s lifted high to applause from the rest of us. There is something so fundamental about the gesture, like Musfasa with that whiny Simba, as the babies are held aloft for the world to acknowledge, with pride, love and joy. Naturally, BB and her momma get the catcalls and loudest applause. The entourage then form a cavalcade and finally come down the aisle, and there is something in that, which touches something inside me and the sight of a radiant FDG holding BB in chuck away mode, flanked by Giuseppe and Corrine moves me to tears. Her billion watt smile as she bat her lashes furiously makes the lump in my throat grow and I find myself wishing I wasn't there alone, that there was a hand to tangle with mine, sharing this beautiful moment, wishing I had what they did.

Duly baptised, the rest of the day is now devoted to much alcohol, loads of laughter and vast quantities of food! Certainly a 4th of July celebration I will remember for a long time! All Hail....... Barabara Benedetta Borgese!