Enter in procession Lilly (and teddy in pushchair), Elizabeth (mummy), Freddy (in pram, with attendant whirry jangly spidery mobile thingy) and, riding trail, Nigel (daddy).
The wagons circle and come to a halt in front of the desk. I half expect an influx of the whooping, bareback riding, arrow shooting Sioux Nation, all painted for war and sporting streaming feather bonnets.
Sadly this is not Blazing Saddles and no Sioux arrive. Neither does the revennant divine Madeleine Khan. Disappointed I slog on with the consultation(s).
On this occasion we have a family affair with both Nigel and Elizabeth requiring attention. Lilly spends her time lining up the trucks and passing daddy all the teddies in the room, one at a time whilst he tries to look masculine under a rising tide of faux fur. Freddie lies there, whirring and jangling in a miasma of frequent heroic farts a prop forward would own with some pride, to Elizabeth’s evident and rising embarrassment.
The consultation(s) ended, we begin the process of restoring teddies and trucks to their rightful places, and guiding the fartmobile through a series of complicated manoeuvres that would tax an HGV driver to the utmost. In a few short minutes (well ten to fifteen) the whole family is ready for the road, and off they go, as the sound of galloping palomino stallions draws ever closer.