"Shoes? Stairs? Keys?"
"It's pissing with rain."
"Keys? Keys?"
"Seriously, look. It's throwing it down. It's really horrible even for here."
"Keys? Keys? Keys?"
SIGH. "Okay."
I couldn't find her walking-reins, and I hate using a pushchair in central London, especially in the rain, so I just let her walk beside me on foot. And it was okay! There was a moment at which I thought I might have to dive out of the changing-room and chase her through Hoss Intropia past the cool gaze of chic Spanish women in my mis-matched underwear and one flip-flop, but then I remembered that I could pick her up and plonk her on a stool that was too high for her to get off. Genius. We survived.
It was raining so hard, and so tediously. Wet wet wet wet wet. Bleagh. I carried Esme across the road and as we ran between buses I smelt her hair, which had curled up into a 'fro.
"You smell like a wet dog, Esme," I said.
"Woof woof," Esme replied.
We sought shelter in Trotters, a Nice Shop in Chelsea where they sell Lovely Things for children. In the shoe department is a large toy car for fidgety kids to climb into, where Esme met a little girl of two called Sophia.
Sophia was impeccably dressed in pink woollen pinafore, plum needlecord bloomers and ribbon in the ringlets. Every inch the Little English Girl. She decided she would measure Esme's feet.
"The lady did this for Lily," she explained in high-pitched, cut-glass tones, and indicated her sister, an older version of the same with impeccable bob, grey woollen pinafore and neatly pulled-up socks who was browsing expensive shoes. "I'll do it for the baby."With a determined expression and chubby, edible little arms, Sophia removed Esme's shoes and wrestled her feet into the sliding gizmo with the strap, muttering "Thirty-forty" under her breath. Esme looked pleased, but a bit confused, as one of her feet appeared to measure a size 19H and the other a 26F.
Sophia pulled the width-measurement strap around Esme's toes, so it was rendered completely irrelevant, and arrived at a measurement she was happy with. She put down the measuring-thing, looked up at me, clapped her hands together and said, "Fifty pounds."
18 comments:
What a delightful account!
Pat
And a 20% tip.
The best part is her chirrupy accent, which I imagine as quite clipped yet pleased with herself. Yumminess all over.
Did she, too, smell of four-footed animals, out in wool in the pouring rain??
Wow, that's quite a bit. Did you pay it?
Thank you for reinforcing all my delightful ideas of British children.
I miss rain...
i think sweat-head in my sons smells a lot like wet dog ... which means they reek all summer in this non-AC swelter-hole. lovely story. and congrats on the blogher keynote!
Maybe Sophia was telling you her fee for the measuring service.
My wife will hate me saying it but Freyja's current shoes were six quid from BHS in Lewisham :)
In other news, coo, get you.
(aggrieved tone of indignation)You haven't mentioned you will be reading at BlogHer! I had to read it on Fussy.com. I would have gone just for that.
It's the first thing I'd have spotted, myself: that missing flip-flop.
We have excessive Bleagh here too. Except being in the countryside makes you that tiny bit soggier. In the head, generally.
BlogHer?! TELL a readership, why don't you?! We'll have to do summat Bloggy over here, these American birds have it all their own way.
Ha ha ha ha ha!!! That was awesome. I can just picture her standing up, clapping her hands together and declaring her price. Perfect.
As far as weather goes, I would much rather pissing rain than the close, sticky, energy stealing humid heat we've had here for the last few days. Cross your fingers for me... ;)
Rain? I remember rain... Winter in Melbourne and it's still a novelty when the wet stuff comes down.
Fifty pounds? In the establishment of which you speak, they must have been having a sale, yes?
Ah, yes. Small person climbing walls, vile London weather. My wet weather haunts were usually John Lewis toy department and the great court at the British Museum where you could run around unrestrained with added cake. It was usually all fine until my sons found the gift shop and started secreting blue china hippos and mummy pencil cases about their small persons.
Oh, and the transport museum too. I have so many memories of sitting in the gloom on the small wooden chairs next to the train set listening to the rain thrumming down on the ceiling.
a joy to read!
I've been lurking for a while but just wanted to say I love your blog. Im in Holland ..... soggy, grey, gloomy weather.Its looooong days with a toddler! I noticed his hair smells of salty dog as well. Lets light a candle and say a collective prayer for the return of sunshine!
Cheers!
When it rains here lately, it's accompanied by distant thunder, which means swimming is cancelled, and it's still hellaciously hot and muggy afterwards.
I long for cool, rainy mornings...
Congratulations on the walking with no reins without mishap, and the revelation on the high placement. These are key to successful parenting as she's and you've realized that you are in control. It will be great now until adolescence, when you won't.
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