ON SUNDAY, 20 women packed into my living room to eat cake and guess the contents of several used nappies.

Before you start to question my sanity, this isn't some strange ritual they carry out in the wilds of Manchester - but was a 'baby shower' hosted for me by two of my sisters.

The basic premise of such an event, for those who haven't attended one, is that the mum-to-be's closest female friends and relatives 'shower' her and her unborn baby with gifts, in exchange for an afternoon playing silly games and eating chocolate.

Really, there's nothing to dislike - until somebody innocently suggests your waist is triple the size it actually is, during a game of 'guess the girth of the bump'.

They're funny old things though, baby showers.

I had this epiphany while taking a lungful of a nappy smeared with Branston pickle, as part of a game devised by the more sadistic of my sisters (other mystery foods for us to guess included Marmite, egg mayonnaise and crushed garlic...)

There aren't many situations where a mum-to-be has to sit and listen as she's regaled with the labour horror stories of so many people at once.

There also aren't many situations where grown adults are force-fed (to guess the contents of) several jars of baby food.

As a result, I'm now firmly of the belief that not even babies should be fed such disgusting stuff.

There are also very few situations in life where the least maternal women turn into gooey messes, cooing and ahhhh-ing, and describing everything as 'so precious!' and 'just ADORABLE!'

But on the plus side, thanks to a game of 'guess the item', I now know what the baby or I are supposed to do with teething rings, nappy bags and a steriliser (not a slow cooker, as I initially thought...)

And I also now know that Smithy is lying when he says his back hurts too much to hoover - because I've never seen somebody move as quickly as he did when he realised he was completely outnumbered.

"Even the bloody cat's female," he muttered, as he pulled his coat on at the speed of light.

Another round of laughter broke out in the living room and a panicked look crossed his face.

"I'm...the pub..."

He was a blur in the distance before you could say 'babygro'.