Infantile

It was truly bizarre, grown women cooing over disturbing plastic recreations of newborn babies.

Did you see it? I know it was a repeat, but the Channel 4 documentary My Fake Baby was one of the most chilling programmes I have seen in a long time.

Engrossing as it was macabre, this followed the stories of three women whose lives are touched by the cult of Reborns - dolls painstakingly crafted to look as close to the real thing as possible - even if it means adding a breathing mechanism and the occasional skin blemish.

It was difficult to decide which tale of Reborns collectors was the saddest.

One seemed to be the retrospective inspiration for Little Britain's Vicky Pollard, an elaborately bobbled and coiffured London girl who reproached her husband every time he referred to her 'babies' as 'dolls'.

She couldn't bear the noise, smell and hard work connected with an actual baby, so had amassed a nursery of the fake versions. We joined her as she was preparing to jet off to America to pick up a top-of-the-range smiling Reborn.

Let's bear in mind - this was a glorified doll. But the impending event still necessitated a trip to Harrod's to spend around £250 on the most hideous leopard print wardrobe for the 'smiler' and taking a buggy along on the long haul flight where the creation would be 'delivered' to a plush hotel suite.

It was clear this was a woman not comfortable with the responsibilities of adulthood, but the other Reborns fan featured was at the opposite end of the experience spectrum.

At first, I thought Harry - the blonde big-eyed grandson who used to play so happily in the back garden, had fallen victim to a childhood disease or terrible accident, but it turned out he had moved to New Zealand with his mum - given the all clear after a cnacer scare - and her new man.

The bereft grandmother who had cared for him during his mum's treatment couldn't bear the fact he was on the other side of the world - and missed the attention she got while proudly pushing Harry in his pram about town.

As her story progressed, it was either callous editing which made her look like a woman obsessively on the edge where Harry was concerned, or an empty nester desperate to be needed once more.

Either way, having a Reborn recreation of Harry as he looked on his arrival in this world certainly wasn't the most advisable solution, and it looked as though, deep down, she agreed.

Circling around both their lives was the mum of four who found she was a dab hand at making these dolls, and made it a business of her own. By far the most likeable person on the programme, she came across as somebody who saw Reborns as a hobby very similar to stamp collecting and train spotting, albeit she had made a profit from it.

As our Essex girl strode about impatiently for her 'smiler' to be delivered, she had the naive audacity to proclaim: "This is the longest labour ever," in the moments before a white cardboard box containing a doll was hand-delivered by porter to her suite.

The 'smiler' arrived encased in bubble wrap (and to think real kids are emphatically told not to do things like that) with - worryingly - disposable nappies covering the arms, feet and head.

After the rather soulless doll had been revealed - complete with ear studs - our girl later discovered that the back of the head was cracked, and it had destroyed the entire bonding process.

Meanwhile, as grandma brought 'Harry' home to show grandad, he showed the greatest display of common sense in the entire programme by saying: "I don't like it. It looks like something off the mortuary slab."

What's more, the real Harry got to take a look at his effigy during a webcam chat - surely the sort of experience which would scar a small child for life.

As the credits rolled, nobody in the Reborns world - except the profit maker - seemed particularly happy. And, as somebody pointed out - why couldn't she use the money she spent on that doll for tickets to New Zealand instead?

But I think there's another story there the programme makers barely touched on.

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