I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want...

This pregnancy continues to amaze me. A couple of nights ago I went along for a work's night out in the Salsa Cafe in town, where we were all munching on nachos and sipping sangria (virgin in my case), chatting about this, that and the other and the subject of pregnancy cravings came up. The usual tales about people eating industrial-sized jars of mayonnaise and gherkins were thrown into the mix, along with the obligatory 'I know someone who knows someone who ate chalk when pregnant (or add any other disgusting substance here - sometimes it's coal)' story, and I was asked whether I'd experienced any cravings yet.

I haven't had any, I explained. Apart from a couple of times after I'd stopped feeling car sick all the live long day and quite fancied a chocolate milkshake. But I don't think that was a proper craving, more like me really wanting milkshakes and using pregnancy as an excuse to have them. Yup, I thought I'd missed the boat with cravings.

Anyway, on my way home that evening I suddenly had an all-compassing hankering for (and this has divided the office as to whether this this absolutely rank or not) tinned mackerel and cucumber sandwiches. So much so, that I had to call The Other Half and ask him to make me some (and go and buy the bits if we didn't have the ingredients). He did both dutifully. (Even cut them into triangles as they taste better that way.) I have had mackerel and cucumber sandwiches every evening since. It's not so weird, is it? No different to tuna or salmon sandwiches? Well, that's my comeback anyway, when someone at work asks what the fishy pong emitting from my lunchbox is.