Iwas watching Jeremy Kyle the other day and there was a man of thirty-six on the show who was convinced there was a mix-up at the hospital when he was born. He was convinced that he was given to the wrong family. I listened to his story and while many would think he was delusional, I could relate to what the guy was saying. Back in the day, hospitals did not tag babies like they do today and babies were also taken away from their mothers and put in a nursery to give the mother some time to recover from the birth. There was plenty of opportunity for a mix-up to occur. This is what I think happened to me.
St Catherine’s Hospital prior to its demolition in 2010.
Today I would like to report a possible conspiracy which has haunted me for 57 years. As you will all have read, yesterday was my birthday. I was born in St Catherine’s Hospital[*] where the most hideous of mix-ups occurred that has affected my whole life. You see my Mummy – who we call Granny here on Jammy Toast because she is The Chimpton’s Granny – is thick, as you all know from some of the stories we have published over the years. I also have two sisters who are exactly the same; both as thick as Granny and who prattle-on on just about any subject you care to mention. On the other hand, I am a relatively intelligent person who – as the Chimpton will confirm – is quiet, noble and withdrawn. In fact, the complete opposite of Granny, Diane and Pauline. What I have always maintained is that all those years ago there was a mix-up at the hospital and a rather intelligent, good-looking family took Granny’s real son home and I was left to endure the family from hell.