A little over a month ago, I was sitting in a bar on the tenth floor of a Berlin hotel. I had a rum and coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other and as I laughed and chatted with my boyfriend and two pals, I felt pretty contented. It’s been a pretty testing year so far: the graduate job hunt seemed like a series of defeats, I was turfed out of my shitty bar job and I’d been feeling that things were at a bit of a standstill. However as I sat on the bar’s 360-degree balcony, taking in the Berlin cityscape, I had a weird feeling that things were going to be OK. It might’ve been the half litre of wine I’d had (to myself) with dinner, the pre-gig anticipation or just the atmosphere, but bad luck can only last for so long. At the very least, I had another job to get me by, I was in my favourite place and I was in great company.

Exactly a week later I was back in Glasgow, standing in my flat, by myself, with a positive pregnancy test in my hand.

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