Last Saturday, quite unexpectedly I got a call from my daughter Jenna who was celebrating at an afternoon 90th birthday party.

“Mum, is there any chance you could pick the kids up and keep them overnight?”

“No problem,” I replied.

“They’re bored at the party and are starting to play up.”

An hour later I picked up Eilidh, nine, and Joey, four, from the local social club, and strangely enough they seemed very eager to be leaving the party to stay at my house.

“Can we, can we, can we?,” they rabbited on excitedly.

So after dinner it was all systems go.

We played horsey games, watched Shrek the Movie whilst munching on crisps and drinking juice, and eventually I managed a much needed glass of wine.

“Bed time,” I announced.

“But….”

“No buts.”

“We don’t have jammies,” Eilidh was trying everything in the book to stay up another minute, and I had forgotten that I had collected them from the party which meant they had absolutely no overnight items at all.

“I’ll make you some special jammies,” I assured them.

A few minutes later I dressed them in my t-shirts which were down to their ankles.

“But…” Eilidh was trying to think of another excuse.

“No but’s Eilidh,” I narked

“It’s time for bed.”

“But nana, Joey can’t go to bed without a nappy.”

“Eh?”

“He’ll pee pee everywhere.”

“But I thought he was out of nappies by now,” I asked the nine-year-old.

“Not at night time,” she assured.

“And you’ve given him lots of juice.”

Well, there I was with not one nappy in the house, two small house guests dressed in t-shirt jammies, I had had a glass of wine which meant I couldn’t drive, and it was nearly 11 o’clock!

Suddenly I had a brainwave and dashed into the kitchen.

“Right Joey. I instructed.

“Lie on the carpet and don’t move.”

Sure enough the wee soul lay like a statue patiently waiting to find out what the next item of undesirable clothing his Nana Bell had in mind for him.

Armed with an Edinburgh Castle souvenir tea-towel, a roll of high gloss brown Gaffer Tape, a pair of carpet scissors and a 5p Tesco carrier bag, I was ready to go.

“Nanna what are you doing to Joey,” Eilidh seemed concerned for her wee brother.

“Eilidh this calls for drastic measures as I can’t have him wetting my new bed.”

“I have no choice but to make him a nappy myself.”

So after taking the unusually quiet wee soul to the toilet for the very last time, (and it had to be the last time because when this contraption was on, it was staying on till the morning), Joey lay on the floor unaware of what was about to happen to him.

“You remember Joey how we watched as Shrek and his wife Fiona put nappies on all the baby Shrek’s?”

He nodded.

“Well that’s what Nanna Bell is going to do with you.”

He just stared back.

“For one night only you’re going to have a special Shrek nappy.”

And sure enough, Joey had his very own baby Shrek nappy. (Only his said Tesco on the front).

“It’s so itchy,” he pleaded scratching at his back.

“Don’t worry Joey,” I assured.

“Nanna will trim it and you’ll be fine.”

Sure enough I trimmed the excess plastic from his waistline and all seemed well.

Next day enjoying freedom again with my friends in the pub, I relayed my previous night of improvisation.

“And was the bed wet next morning.” Christine was curious.

“Nope, it was absolutely fine,” I laughed.

“Although, the Shrek nappy weighted about a tonne.”

This led me to tell my friends about a very interesting story I read a couple of weeks ago about a wonderful Scottish lady who had just died at the age of 94.

“Her name was Valerie Hunter Gordon and she invented the first every disposable nappy.”

I was bemused and proud that like so many other Scots she had invented a world first.

“That’s amazing,” gushed Mae.

“Yes, apparently after she had her third child she was tired of the wasted hours spent on washing, drying and ironing the traditional towelling nappy.”

My pals were all ears as I continued.

“The nappy was initially made out of old nylon parachutes, tissue wadding and cotton wool.”

Sarcastically Christine got her bit in.

“And poor wee Joey got a 5p Tesco bag.”

My so called pals thought this was hilarious.

“Well Christine,” I nipped back.

“Having recently run out of parachute material and tissue wadding.” I explained.

“I think I did a bloody good job!”