I've now reached that difficult stage with my moustache where it's too long for people to think I've just missed a bit shaving, but not long enough for me to pass as Hans Moretti. It's gone beyond the point where anyone can think it's accidental, meaning that everyone knows I've made a conscious decision to look like this. I've spent today in clinic, fighting the urge to begin every patient encounter with the words "In case you're wondering, I don't think this is a good look."

But I shouldn't be embarrassed, because the good news is that I've just acquired a powerful new sponsor. I'm now being backed by God. After three years of downhill travel on the heathen road to hell, we had Amelie baptised yesterday at the local Catholic church. They had a two-for-one offer on, so we got Lisa confirmed as well. I'm now the only member of the family still allowed to use condoms.

To be honest, I'm not much of a God-botherer. I prefer to annoy Lisa. But I'm always happy to go along with her madcap schemes, and she was keen for at least two thirds of the family to get into heaven, so I agreed to do my bit by attending the service yesterday morning. We didn't manage to get any photos of the actual event, but here's Amelie recreating the crucial moment of baptism with a bowl of melted ice cream...


That's Lisa in the background, practicing her Catholic guilt.

The chance to see Amelie drowned in a font was obviously quite a big draw, so we were joined at the church yesterday by most of my family, half of Lisa's, and a couple of good friends. By the end of the service, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Lisa's five-year-old nephew had been reduced to tears by the boredom, and frankly I was right there with him.

I got through the critical mass though, and despite being in a permanent state of bewilderment and confusion, I think I stood in all the right places, sung most of the right hymns, and managed to hold Amelie over the font without breaking her neck. I was expecting her to cry when the priest tipped water over her head, but instead she started laughing. She always did love baths. I'm just surprised she didn't ask for bubbles.

To be honest, I felt like a fish out of holy water for most of the morning, but the good news is, it didn't show. There were two priests present for the service, and Big Sis got chatting to one of them afterwards. He was asking about our family background, and when Sis said we weren't Catholic, he looked very surprised and said "Well, Phil certainly looks like a Catholic". I'm not sure if it's the moustache or the guilty expression, but either way, I've clearly got them fooled. I'll let you be the judge...


I think it's my look of easy virtue.

Anyhoo, you can't wet the baby's head without going for a celebratory meal afterwards, so having eaten a bit of cake in the church hall, we headed down to the Marina to share five loaves and two fishes with my family. We went for the authentic Roman Catholic experience by opting for an Italian restaurant, and then joined together to say 'Our Father'. But only when the waitress asked us who was paying the bill.

By the end of it all, I was ready to confess to the sin of gluttony, and had learnt a lot about brotherly love...


I think the church has a stranglehold on me already.