A trip to the garage on Saturday afternoon to upgrade the car posed a dilemma: do we go for the metallic blue sporty model with a touch screen dashboard and alloy wheels or the hatchback estate in sensible silver with a bigger, lower boot and plenty of room for Christmas presents.
It was a simple case of head over heart. The blue sporty model, roughly the same size as our car now, but better looking and with better gadgets. And we’d still have to take the damn wheels off the Quinny to haul the ****ing thing in the boot.
Whereas the sensible silver estate comes with a boot so big and so low all the frailest person in the world would need is a little minor exertion and the pushchair would be safely stowed away in one piece, as opposed to five. And there’d still be room for a scooter and a bike. And Christmas presents.
That was the dilemma facing Misery Guts and myself as our eyes met across the upholstery of the estate and we realised we were staring middle age straight in the face.
So what did we do? We did what any thirty-something parents clinging on to their twenty-something, childless selves would do. We went for the blue sporty model with alloy wheels of course.