“So, it has an articulated chassis,” he’s saying with interest. “How does that affect the turning circle?”
For God’s sake. It’s not a car.
“You can’t beat the turning circle on this model.” Stuart’s eyes are gleaming as he demonstrates. “The Warrior is the Humvee of off-roaders. You see the sprung axle?”
“The Warrior?” I echo, aghast. “We’re not getting a pram called the Warrior!”
Both men ignore me.
“It’s a great piece of engineering.” Luke takes hold of the handles. “Feels good.”
“This is a man’s pram. It’s not a fashion pram.” Stuart glances with slight disdain at the Lulu Guinness printed stroller I’m holding on to. “We had an ex-SAS guy in here the other day, Mr. Brandon.” He lowers his voice. “This is the pram he chose.”
“I like it a lot.” Luke’s pushing it back and forth. “Becky, I think we should get this.”
“OK.” I roll my eyes. “That can be your one.”
“What do you mean, my one?” Luke stares at me.
“I want to get this one!” I say defiantly. “It’s got a limited edition Lulu Guinness print and built-in iPod holder. And look at the sun canopy. It’s fab!”
“You cannot be serious.” Luke runs his eyes dismissively over it. “It looks like a toy.”
“Well, your one looks like a tank! I’m not pushing that down the street!”
“I would just point out,” interjects Stuart delicately, “while applauding both your choices, that neither of these models has the car seat and lie-flat facilities that you were originally seeking.”
“Oh.” I look at the Lulu Guinness stroller. “Oh, right.”
“Might I suggest you regroup, have coffee, and work out your needs? It may be that you need more than one vehicle. One for off-roading, one for nipping around the shops.”
That’s a thought.
Stuart hurries off toward another couple, and Luke and I head toward the café.
“OK,” I say as we reach the tables. “You go and get the coffees. I’ll sit here and work out exactly what we need.”
I pull out a chair, sit down, and get out a pen and my Pram List. On the back I write Pram Priorities and draw a grid. The only way to do this is to be totally rigorous and scientific.
A few minutes later, Luke approaches with a tray of drinks. “Get any further?” he asks, sitting down opposite me.
“Yes!” I look up, my face flushed from the effort. “OK. I’ve been working it out logically…and we need five prams.”
“Five?” Luke nearly drops his coffee. “Becky, one small baby cannot possibly need five prams.”
“It does! Look.” I show him my grid. “We need a travel system with a carry-cot and a car seat for when it’s tiny.” I count off on my fingers. “We need an off-road jogger for going on walks. We need that shopping-and-lattes one for the city. We need the whizzy folding-up one for the car. And we need the Lulu Guinness one.”
“Why?”
“Because…it’s cool,” I say defensively. “And all the other yummy mummies will have one.”
“The other yummy mummies?” Luke gives me a blank look. Honestly. Doesn’t he remember anything?
“In Vogue! I have to be the yummiest!”
Stuart is passing the café area, and Luke beckons him over.
“Excuse me. My wife is now talking about buying five prams. Please, can you explain to her that this is totally unreasonable?”
“You’d be surprised, sir,” says Stuart, giving me a confidential wink. “We do see a lot of repeat custom. And if you wanted to get all the pram-buying wrapped up in the one trip, it might make sense….” He trails off at Luke’s stony expression and clears his throat. “Why not try out a few models on our all-terrain stroller course? That’ll give you a real idea.”
The all-terrain stroller course is at the back of the store, and Stuart helps us take all our “possibles” over to it.
“We at Pram City are very proud of our stroller course,” he says, effortlessly pushing five buggies along in a straight line. “As you go around it, you’ll find every surface that the pram may encounter in its lifetime, from the shiny marble of a shopping mall to the pebbly beach of a summer holiday to the stone steps of a cathedral…. Here we are!”
Wow. I am quite impressed. The stroller course is about thirty meters long, like some kind of racetrack, and all the way round, people are pushing prams and calling out to each other. In the gravel section, one girl has got totally stuck with her pink umbrella buggy, and in the beach section, two toddlers are chucking sand at each other.
“Cool!” I grab the shopping-and-lattes stroller and head for the start. “Race you, Mr. Warrior.”
“You’re on.” Luke takes hold of the enormous khaki handles, then frowns. “How do I release the brake?”
“Ha! Loser!” I start dashing over the pavement section with my nippy stroller. A moment later I see Luke starting to push his monster along, and soon he’s gaining on me.
“Don’t you dare!” I say over my shoulder, and pick up the pace.
“The Warrior is invincible,” Luke says in a film-trailer voice. “The Warrior admits no defeat.”
“Can the Warrior do a twirl?” I retort. We’re on the marble surface by now, and my stroller is amazing! I push it with one finger and it practically does a figure eight. “You see? It’s absolutely—” I look up to see Luke already on the gravel. “You missed your compulsory figures!” I call in outrage. “Twenty-second penalty!”