Next Wed I’m taking Microboy into the big smoke for a farewell lunch with my knitting homie, Maxine, and a bunch of other crafty loons. I’m looking forward to it a lot, but I can’t believe how much pre-planning I’ve had to do to work out how to lug the boy and his buggy from Twickers all the way to SW7.
All my life I’ve been a train person. I love trains so much I might as well become a spotter. But since I had the boy, I’ve had to become a bus person. London buses are friendly to wheeled beings, with special rampy things to get you on and off. Sadly, London trains are a different matter. As soon as I encounter stairs, it’s a bit like fox/chicken/grain, with the boy, the 8-ton buggy and all of the bags hanging off it.
My local station has nothing but stairs. And the man who runs the station is the grumpiest, jobsworthiest King Cnut I have ever encountered… (lets just say that there is no way on earth I could imagine him helping me with the buggy). So I looked on TFL’s website to find out which stations have lifts, and it turns out my best option is to get the bus to Richmond and then ask the staff if I can use their magical mystery secret lift to the platform. Then I take the tube to… where? Well, not South Kensington or Gloucester Rd. In fact the only station close to my destination that claims to have stair-free access is Earls Court. Tsk. It’s made me realise how impossible it is for people with disabilities to get about. At least I’ll only have to deal with this until he moves into a lightweight pushchair.
And yes, I realise that I could use a sling but unfortunately the Microbe is yet to be convinced of this. He’s ok for short bursts in his fabric Babasling but he’s starting to get cramped and grizzly in there these days and he cries if I put him in the big, holstery, Bjorn-alike one. He’d bawl the train down if he was in there all day long. I think I’m going to try and get him used to it though, especially now that he’s old enough to face outwards.
Well… I suppose I should stop sitting around in my pants and make some use of this glorious, glorious day. Who’d ever have predicted blazing sun at the end of September? Tomorrow I’ve convinced G to take the day off so that we can take Microboy to the seaside – Hoorah! Hoorah! Hoorah!