Enough navel-gazing for now. Let’s get back to some good old fashioned silliness shall we.
Despite the literary allusion (can it be literary if abstracted from an aural medium I wonder—perhaps it should be “broadcasterary allusion”—or perhaps not….) my own version of Ambridge is in fact far from the rural idyll broadcast daily by Auntie for our listening pleasure. Dormitory Town sub-urban is more the thing if I’m honest. The strange thing is, this does not appear to have impinged on the Mums and Dads of the latest generation of tiny Borcestrians.
There’s been a “bit of a cough” doing the rounds in these parts lately. The sort of cough that leaves tinies choking, gasping, purple and cross. And it’s going on for days on end. Unsurprisingly Mums and a few Dads (you know they’re worried when a sheepish looking Dad is in tow to insist that “something’s got to be done Doc”) have been thronging the waiting room with their wheezing, hacking, retching, puce offspring. The good news is that despite the graphic presentations most are just suffering with the aforementioned “bit of a cough” and some reassurance and symptomatic treatment will pull them through just fine.
Our problem is the traffic management their attendances are occasioning. It seems babies these days are much too precious and fragile to be brought the full fifty yards from car park to consulting room in anything smaller or more dainty than a Sherman tank. Buggies have clearly come on a long way in the umpteen years since the Jests were in the market for one. Gone are the teetering gossamer constructs of yore with their two inch diameter Lego wheels and all the stability and traction of an inebriate hippo on ice.
Nowadays we get mammoth constructs with wheels bigger than a mountain bike, sporting off road tyres, brush cutters and bull bars. The tiny occupants are strapped in tight enough for Saturn V style take-off and re-entry. I’m sure the ones imported by our own share of the Polish Diaspora are in fact just T72s with the turrets removed a few teddy bear stickers applied for that homely touch. More than once I’ve found myself having to strenuously resist the urge to duck and cover as one of these monsters fills the doorframe of the consulting room.
Does anyone have the number for M. Maginot I wonder?
*Hob nob on offer for the correct next line.
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7 comments:
Is it a monster?
It must be a monster. You're right about the size of baby buggies these days, some of them are enormous. However, no matter how big they are they are smaller than the push chairs that were about when I was a child (in the 50s). It is amazing seeing these being brought onto buses with the child still in situ. When I was young, if a Mum used public transport she had to take the child out so that the push chair could be stowed in the miniscule luggage compartment available on the bus (a good old Routemaster; I am London born and bred) but as it was unlikely that the pushchair could fit into this compartment, Mums pushed their offspring by foot wherever they needed to go. How things have changed.
I think fondly of our last buggy, which was a lime green three-wheeler with huge f*ck-off tyres and power steering (OK, I was the power) that made life in the sticks much easier than the aforementioned gossamer, Lego-wheeled constructs of yore.
Oh, and I've just spent ten minutes on Wikipedia reading up on the myriad types of armoured cloches. I rather think it's your fault, Dr J.
alhi-- It's a monsteeer! Quite right. Enjoy your Hob Nob with pride.
madsagirl-- also correct so a hob nob on its way to you too. Well done. When shoppping for Jest Jr we were stunned to see Silver Cross were still in operation.
Swiss Mrs-- surely in Switzeralnd you are not expected to know of such things. So sorry to have led you astray.
When shoppping for Jest Jr we were stunned to see Silver Cross were still in operation.
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Er no they're not actually - the name certainly is, but the factory in Guiseley nr Leeds has long since been demolished and the name sold on to whoever is making them (or likely importing them with the name on) - interestingly in the same 100 yard radius of the old factory is another nationally famous compnay which has sold itself down the river just to make a fast buck - the original and for me the only one to visit, Harry Ramsdens is accross the road from the old Silver Cross works - handy for me - I only live 5 miles away
Steve
(oh and I would have said monster, but was beaten to it and I suppse the HN's have all gone now huh?) :-)
Okay, I have to stand up for the parents just a little here. Perhaps a bit of an analogy...let's say you have a very important, um, parcel, that someone is paying you loads of money to take to a certain location, have it screened, and return it back again. There's just one problem: this parcel tends to jump about quite a bit, and can send out little pincers to grasp on to random things in its path. You must take the parcel to the location without allowing it to be contaminated at all -- so avoid contact with all surfaces, and with all those other parcels that are attempting to poke at it. You should expect to handle this parcel for an hour at least at its location. Now, given the choice of a mini monster truck to transport the parcel in or carrying it yourself, which would you choose?
Of course, if you swear to me that all of these parents are only having to spend 5 minutes in your waiting room and then 5 minutes in the exam room before you arrive, then I rescind my comment!
Steve G-- I'm devastated to think all that fine coachwork has been outsourced. Not very surprised, true, but devastated nay the less. And help yourself to a hob nob, tis after all the season of goodwill.
Maggie O-- Touche. And welcome. Would a hob nob help at all?
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