Pimp my pushchair
So, Dermot and Dave said on the radio this morning that Tom Cruise and Katie..er..whatever are buying their daughter Sari a Swarovski crystal-studded pushchair for her first birthday that’s being hand made in the Channel Islands. Eh? They won’t be thinking it’s such a good idea when they’re picking little bits of soggy biscuit out from between the crystals. Been trying to wrack my brains and think back to what buggy I had with #1. I think it was a second-hand number that my Mum got from somewhere. I vaguely remember it being a kind of aqua coloured check material. I remember #2′s though, because we had enough money to buy a new one (woohoo!) and I got the orange and navy blue Mamas and Papas one with the big chunky wheels from John Lewis (ooh get me). It didn’t turn into such a good buy when we realised that it was so huge it didn’t fit in the back of the car.
Now, of course, all that stuff just doesn’t enter into my world, and it all seemed so important at the time; what buggy you had and whether you had one of those weird ‘strap your baby onto your back’ contraptions or not (I didn’t because Hubby refused to look like he had a baby-shaped backpack on – he’s not a ‘new man’). I do still coo at babies in Tesco’s though, much to my children’s disgust. Where did the time go? My boys have gone from little blond cherubs (They had white-blond hair and very light blue eyes, a bit like those demonic children from that 1960s film Village of the Damned. Figures.) to big strapping hulks who snort derisively when I call a song ‘a record’ instead of ‘a track’ or dare to mention (quite legitimately I thought) that the lead singer of My Chemical Romance has very nice teeth. God, first the ‘mutton’ crisis and now this. Might as well just check myself into a Twilight Home for the Perpetually Bewildered (my Dad used to answer the phone like that) and be done with it.
