Today we went to buy a pram. That should read, another pram. Our spare room (warehouse) now resembles a closing down sale at Mothercare. Shabby miniature wheeled vehicles stand around redundantish as S walks mostly everywhere now. The new pram, which is actually second hand, fits right in with the others although it takes more than its fair share of space because it is massive.
Where we live, the trend for baby-related stuff is mega-traditional. As a friend said, “they are stuck in the 50s round here”.
“The 1850s,” I added.
“Ha,” said E my wife.
The city playgrounds at the weekends are overrun with Little Lord (and Lady) Fauntleroy types. A popular clothing item of note is the unisex pair of chunky knit over-nappy knickers usually worn with gleaming shoes, knee length socks and expensive looking fur-collared woollen button up coats in various pastel shades. Kids charge around the apparatus in these outfits costing more than the average monthly wage stopping occasionally to be scolded and dusted down by a heavily made up granny and force fed a bite of cured meat sandwich. Anyway, the point is that the new second hand pram follows this design ethos and wouldn’t look out of place on a Victorian seafront parade. It cost us 150€ and we’re (I’m) still debating *whether it was worth it.
*It was – of course it was! My wife is always right on these matters and M is fast asleep in the pram as I write.
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