Baby on board

There’s a new kind of stroller for the parent pedestrian, as Tom Springfield once wrote.

As you know, NSRs, that practical small foldaway stroller was long ago superceded by those ridiculous, ginormous and cumbersome four wheel drives of push chairs. Well, the latter model has now , like most things, you know, mothers, wives, friends and lovers, run its course and been replaced and upgraded/babooshkaed/carlabrunied by a new, super, deluxe, i mean, luxe and ridiculous form of transport for life’s most precious cargo.

This new contraption is such a curious form, and I’m being polite. It looks like a lazy Susan table come palette fixed atop a tallish three wheeled stand. I guess it’s kind of Jetsons Space Age (but no jet pack required, shame).

Parent, generally proud poppa, pushes the object while jogging but the byebee does not look like it’s secured by a belt on the palette. Baby just sort of lolls about, which causes concern for Constable Care. Well, until the next possible imminent disaster pops into my head as I stride around Darling Harbour, hands behind back, surveying her port and quays. What’s that unusual ripple on the water’s surface..? Why do those boats bob so?
Quick! Where is some higher terrain....?
Tsunami everyone! T S U N A M I
Higher ground people, (I myself personally am perpetually takin’ the high ground), I bark then squeal.

I swoop onto that palette-on-wheels of a pushchair, scoop up baby, transfer its bonnet to my noggin, and demand that poppa get a move on and push us up that nice, hilly street.