Post Buggy Blues (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

Little G has a new buggy. It's is one of those easy-peasy drop down ones that you can get on and off buses and trains without having to haul it up and down steps or do life-changing damage to your shoulders. It folds down at a touch. It can be stowed on luggage racks.

It is unlike the state-of-the-art purple buggy with a mind of its own that I have been using since Little G and I began our adventures together. THAT buggy is now being stored for her new little brother (expected arrival: end of April).

I remember being presented with the purple buggy for the first time. I wrote a diatribe about its various contradictions and complexities here but now that it is being taken away, I am in mourning. Life is not going to be the same any more.

No more waving and smiling to the three other owners of similar buggies as we gingerly manoeuvre the cumbersome things along the narrow pavements. No more running it up close to traffic lights so that Little G can press the button for the green man - the new buggy is much lower.

But mainly, I am going to miss the face-to-face chats. The new buggy is the other way round. Little G can see where we are going, but I can't share her reactions. No more smiles, no more jokes, no more pulling funny faces at each other and mocking our various gestures (she loves to imitate me looking at my watch).

 No more making up silly songs and rhymes as we head for Morrison's at 7.30 to buy my paper and her croissant. Yes, we can chat, but it's not the same holding a conversation with the top of her head. I never thought I'd ever say it, but I Want the Purple Buggy Back!



To be continued ...  ....