Recently it was a bank holiday. I told Mum “the pram brigade is out in force today.”
“Grannies and grampas,” she said, smiling.
“Mothers and fathers too,” I replied, “being dragged along by multicoloured toddlers.”
Some of these groups had sense, and children are just children, but I was shocked by one father plodding along with a pushchair. One foot… in front… of the other. Pace… pace… pace… he was holding up a lot of people but didn’t seem to notice. Pace… pace… pace… (went the crowd in unison, backed up behind the father with his pram). Finally we all caught up with a woman waiting by the side of the pavement, and the two of them, with pram and a little boy, milled around indecisively in front of a bear shop.
This is why I started going out as early as possible, even if it was so early I couldn’t go to the shops. Why do some people think ‘Bank Holiday’ means ‘Bank Dawdle Day’?