The security guys in our building run a TGIF canteen, selling bagels and coffee for those of us who are too slack-jawed at the end of the week to feed ourselves in the morning. I was whimpering about wanting Baileys in my coffee today and not being able to drink, and he looked at me all puzzled. "Why can't you have Baileys?" he asked. (I should note that he didn't look surprised at my wanting a drink before 10 a.m. Life is like that behind the Rusted Iron Curtain.) I looked at him, equally puzzled, and pointed to the growing bulge under my very loose sweater. "Oh, are you pregnant?" C'est la vie, says this old folk, it goes to show you never can tell.