One day, I will meet the geek of my dreams…someone who knows how to permanantly embed this google map into my homepage, with lovely clicky links that go straight to the relevant pages.
But till then, here you are:
One day, I will meet the geek of my dreams…someone who knows how to permanantly embed this google map into my homepage, with lovely clicky links that go straight to the relevant pages.
But till then, here you are:
OK, this’ll be a short one..it’s only a wee place. But a useful thing to know, I think.
Picture the scene – Roo and I, off for a walk to the sorting office. It’s a place we tend to frequent when someone has a birthday coming up (don’t worry if you haven’t got me a card yet – it’s not till next week). It’s also about a half-hour walk away, in the arse end of Walworth and as such is a bit of a mission. I once wrote a song about it, to the tune of Jingle Bells and I’ll reproduce it here for the sake of bumping up the word count:
“v1:
Pushing through the snow
In my Mummy-powered pram
Buses won’t go slow
Cause they’d don’t give a damn
We’re off to Walworth Road
Where the friendly people are
We’re travelling by pram today
Cause they’d break into our car!
ohhhh…..
Chorus:
Jingle Pip, Jingle Pip
Off to Walworth Road
Oh, what fun it is to ride
When we’re skidding on the snow (x2)
V2:
Outside the County Court
Folks like to shout and scream
I have drifted off by now
And I’m having a nice dream
Onto Cleaver Square
I’m in my Elmo suit
People stop and stare at me
Because I am so cute!
Chorus
V3:
Now we’re past the tube
It isn’t quite so clean
Mummy says that’s cause we’re in
S.E. Seventeen!
I’m getting kinda stressed
In my furry suit I’m hot
But Mummy wants to get me home
Before we both get shot
Chorus. ”
That was Christmas 2009 – he was six months old and ever so cute, especially in that elmo suit. Pity the red fur came out in clumps when he chewed it. But just look!
Pip was his baby nickname, by the way (short for Pippin, his foetus name). Clearly. Incidentally, if I try and sing that song to him now, he either tries to sing along with the real words (spoilsport) and just says “Mummy, stop!” which is his standard reaction to my singing. Ungrateful child. You know how babies are supposed to be soothed to sleep by their mother’s singing? Not this one. And he doesn’t think much of my choice in showtunes.
Am I totally digressing here? I tend to. Sorry. So, Roo and I were on the way to the sorting office which, as you can tell by the song, is a dangerous task! (Not really, mother if you’re reading…I’ve never once been shot walking to the sorting office. Or back). We stopped along the way at an express retail outlet of a major supermarket – or “nana shop”, as we call it. But today, he eschewed the bananas in favour of a fairly unripe pear. His choice, OK?
We continued peacefully on our way. Roo munching his pear, quite happily. We got to the sorting office and i *reckoned* I could make it to the bank at Elephant on this roll. It was a big pear and you can’t eat something so hard too quickly, so that gave me time and time is a precious thing. But on leaving the sorting office, disaster struck! “Pear missing!”. Indeed it was – and it was found on the pavement, in a state that rendered it inedible to even my super-immune toddler. Not saying that Walworth’s dirty but…yup, it is.
So, good times were over. But I had determined to go to the bank and I wasn’t changing my mind, however much he whined. Good grief, that whine is a bit grating, isn’t it? I powered up Walworth Rd – renamed Hellworth Rd during my ten weeks covering a store there – hoping against hope that we could find something to distract him along the way. Just somewhere he could get out and walk about for a bit, without being on a main road. And preferably somewhere pregnalady could have a pee.
Then it loomed out of the gloom – the Cuming Museum. I had been past there a hundred times but never paid much attention. But this was its time. It had kids activities during half term (not today), which suggested it wouldn’t be completely averse to the sight of a small child, it had disabled access which meant I go could straight in with the buggy. And it had toilets. Nuff said.
So, what was there for toddlers? Well, it’s only three smallish rooms, so don’t expect too much but it definitely did what I needed at the time. As soon as we went in, there was a colouring station with paper and coloured pencils which was a good start. We spent a good five minutes there colouring in pictures of shoes (me) and arranging the pencils into colour groups (OCD boy). Then we had a quick look round the rest of the room – obviously I wasn’t allowed to stop and read or look at anything in detail, but essentially it’s the story of a Southwark family and the area they lived in. So local history, with a personalised slant.
And they had a taxidermed bear. Roo loves a bit of taxidermy (Horniman Museum, Natural History Museum) so that was a treat.
Onto room two, which was a bit more interactive. There was a spinny thing (I forget the name, they have one at the Museum of Childhood as well), where you look into it as it spins and the bear seems to dance. I wanna say Velodrome but I’m pretty sure that’s wrong. Anyway, spinny thing will do. They also had a world map jigsaw, which would have been good if the pieces had fitted, and a pearly king jacket to try on. And a desk where you could make a cut-out pearly king or Charlie Chaplin. That danced! I have the pearly king bits but forgot to pick up some split pins at the office to bring the whole thing together. Don’t worry, I’ll find some. There were also screens to press and stuff, which Roo always likes.
The third room was a photo project of people who lived and worked around the Elephant itself. It looked really interesting but once again, no time to look before I was dragged out, via the office (in between rooms one and two). Roo popped his head in to say ey-yo to the frendly people working there. I swiftly popped it back out again. On the way out, there seemed to be a white book of entirely blank pages, with a biro next to it. I’m guessing you were meant to apply one to the other (there were some questions nearby, asking for reflections on the area) but no-one else seemed to have. Needless to say, Roo did. The prospect of a blank book and a biro is just too tempting for him. If anyone from the Cuming Museum’s reading this and is currently outraged about the vandalism of their pure white book (honestly, it’s like defiling The White Album) then sorry, it was us. It wasn’t some destructive teenager graffitiing for the sake of it – it was a 2-year-old, trying to put into letters and squiggles his thoughts about the area. There were some letters ( a “d”, i think. Yes, child prodigy is trying to write already. Before he can even speak properly). At least he was born in Southwark. I think. Where’s St Thomas’ again?
Gosh, 1200 words?! Where did that come from? This was in no way a short post, I’m sorry. And it included a song. Bet you didn’t see that one coming.
VERDICT: Small but charming and a nice stop off if you’re in the area
What is winter with no snow? Well, George Clooney’s aunt, I’m glad you asked. And sorry I paraphrased you a bit there but it aint Christmas anymore… Winter with no snow would be more convenient, certainly, but it would rob Metro writers of their annual chance to use the Giant Book of Snow Cliches (“The Big Freeze”, “Life in the Freezer”). And more importantly, it would rob small children of the chance to run about like loons and throw snowballs at their Daddies.
And gosh, was he an excited chap! At 7:30 on Sunday morning, he was cannonballing from one end of the house to the other, issuing instructions “shoes on”, “coat on”, door open!” which his dense parents failed to interpret for some reason – maybe cause it was still dark outside Roo? Who knows – but by 8:00, I had caved and got him dressed while Nathan was still showering and I was still in my PJs. Then popped him out in the back garden and closed the kitchen door. I could still see him, alright? I’m not that neglectful. Yet. When Nathan came down dressed, I packed him off into the snow too and they had a delightful half hour running around the estate.
Oh yeah, and Roo was wearing a Blues Brothers hat and pretending it was a cowboy hat. Obviously.
So, where do go in London on a lovely snowy day? Why, Oxford Circus of course! Nathan and the Lodger both had to go to church for rota’d reasons and it would seem a little suspect if Roo and I didn’t make it in. Arriving in Oxford Circus to a pile of dark grey sludge, I had grand designs to take Roo to Regents Park for some more snow-related fun. Halfway up Portland Place, the buggy was sticking in the as yet unmelted snow, Roo was asleep and I’d spilt my Pret a Manger soya milk hot chocolate all over my coat. Another plan scuppered. Back to the cosiness of the University of Westminster for church then.
But here’s the thing. You’ll know by now how unscupperable I am, generally speaking. After church, Roo was awake and lively and Nathan wanted to go to HMV so we set off in search of any kind of white snow that might exist in the vicinity of Oxford St (no darling, no the grey snow, not the yellow snow, not the…is that a kebab frozen into the snow?! no, don’t touch that either)
Soho Square it was then. I realise that looking for clean snow halfway through the day in Central London was somewhat ambitious but at least the Soho Square was a muddy kind of dirty rather than a…well, Soho kind of dirty. Or maybe I’m just being oblivious. Either way, another fun half hour was spent romping around squeaking “‘snow ball! wet glove!” and throwing snow at the statue of Charles II (hey, what did he ever do for us?)
This is what I call my “Metro” shot – spring flowers suddenly being covered in snow. Like it’s making the point that we’ve had a mild January, followed by a freezing February. It’s somehow poetic.
So, that was Central London in the snow. This post would be way better if we’d made it to Regents Park or St James’ or even Kennington Park. But this is our lot in life and rotas are always calling, even when there are snowmen to build. Once again, poetic. And ignores the fact that I have no idea how to build a snowman….
So, you may be reading this blog and thinking “Why Katese11 (for that is my real name), it’s all very well recommending all these lovely places to take my toddler but how the heckatty do you actually get to any of them? Isn’t London transport a nightmare at the best of times, let alone with a toddler?” To you I say two things – firstly, it’s not that bad…and this post will hopefully explain some of the ways you can make it better. Secondly, heckatty? What does that even mean?
Here’s a starter for nothing. If you are one of the many people I know that can carry a toddler all day in a sling, then you have been given the freedom of the city! Nothing is out of bounds for you – tubes, overland trains, boats…it’s all yours. Ditto if you have a toddler that will happily walk all day and be trusted not to run into the road repeatedly. If, however, you have the kind of puny back muscles that I have and so cannot carry your toddler let alone the huge amounts of stuff they seem to come with, then you need to rethink. Again, if you have a toddler that can walk but thinks that “red man” means “mid-road dance time”, then you need to rethink. In both cases, you may find yourself stuck with a buggy. And that’s the starting point for this point for this post. If you have a sling-er or walk-er, go straight to the next post (don’t – there’s nothing there yet).
For good buggying on public transport, it’s handy to have a lightweight pushchair. In the picture above, Roo and his friend Luke have the same Asda lightweight stroller (it’s called the Chicco Winter or something) and look how much space there is! Lovely! It also had the tightest little turning circle. In the long run, seemed like it was too lightweight and it died within six months but we do work our buggys hard. Plus it was only £50.00. Our current buggy is hefty, clumsy and a bit of a monster for public transport but it was one we found on the street, so we can’t be too fussy. True story.
If you need the benefits of a stroller type pushchair explained, here they are – it’s lighter (in case you need to lift it down any stairs but also so it’s less effort to hold on an escalator), narrower (so it fits alongside other buggys on the bus better) and has a smaller turning circle (to negotiate busy buses). The picture above is our current buggy and you see what I mean? Hefty. But it was free. Dinosaur not included.
Second tip is to minimise changes. All but one of the places I’ve blogged about have been just one mode of transport away cause I really can’t be arsed with the getting on and off all the time. If I was in a tricksy mood, I would make you guess which one required more than one mode of transport but I’m not – it was the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. A classic example of how slinging makes life easier- meeting a friend there who lives near me she took the tube, toddler on back, and made it in half an hour. Burdened with a buggy and fearful of that difficult spiral staircase at Bank, I took the bus and twice as long. But generally speaking, I just get on one thing and stay on it. Admittedly, I do live in an area which has lots of easy transport links *engage smug mode* but also I’m prepared to have longer bus journeys (pack cheesey biscuits, juice and books) and further to walk to and from bus stops either end. It just seems easier – once you’re settled in that buggy area nothing is technically allowed to shift you. Except a wheelchair. And that hasn’t happened to us yet. I should point out that this is a recent change of attitude. In the olden days when Routemasters roamed the Earth, I had a travelcard and no baby and would frequently “bus-hop” from one Routemaster to another just to get past a traffic jam (it always seemed to be in Whitehall). But those were different times….
So, buses! It’s ironic (in the Alanis) sense that I decided to write this post today because I had two bad bus experiences to and from the Transport Museum. Both times were a question of bad bus etiquette which I’ll share with you for your education and not because I’m ranting. No no. The first one started at the bus stop. There is always a sense of awkwardness when you’re at the bus stop and there’s another buggy there. It’s like you’re hoping the other buggy wants any bus but yours. If it was somewhere but London, you’d probably attempt a conversation with this other parent to establish whether or not they did want your bus but This Is London. And we do not do such things.
So, we were both waiting and along came the 59. We both moved to get on it. I let her go first because (good bus etiquette alert!) she was there first. She could see me coming on too but she parked the buggy lengthways across the buggy space. Now, that just doesn’t work. The only formation for two buggys in the space (as modelled by Roo and Luke above) is side by side, facing the window. Preferably with the toddler positioned out of reach of the big red button. So I just stood there for a bit and she didn’t get the hint. So I said “excuse me, sorry” (words you use a lot while taking a buggy on a bus) and eventually, she moved her buggy (it was more of a pram really, so I’ll assume she was a learner driver) so it was at a diagonal. Again, not ideal but I managed to get the buggy in. As previously discussed, it’s not a skinny model. But I did it, just.
The way home was even worse. I got on and started pushing down through the bus (I’ve heard rumours that you can get on using the back doors and pay later but I’ve never seen anyone actually do this) and a lady standing just by the driver refused to move. She squeezed herself against the wall – no, still not enough space- and then moved towards me – nope, still not working – but didn’t move backwards, which was surely the sensible thing to do. So I ran over her feet. She had ample bracing time.
Reaching the buggy spot, there was another pram parked there. Another teensy gap. Now, I’m pretty adept at steering the monster but I can’t defy physics. Even though my third cousin was a famous physicist, he never passed on the secret of how to y’know bend time and space. I only wish he had. So again I hinted, again I said “excuse me”, the person I assumed to be the mother wasn’t, so she didn’t move it. And neither did the actual mother. So in the end a man grabbed it and roughly pushed the buggy past the pole (possibly bending the wheel in the process – who knows?) and got Roo in, if at a 45 degree angle that looked extremely uncomfortable for a boy with a crotch strap. Thank goodness for padded nappies or I’d never have grandchildren.You see, the trick to getting two buggys in that space (whatever their size) is to put one in sideways on (facing the window, as above) then push it directly sideways, tip forwards slightly to get past that awkward pole, then tip back and push it into position, next to the padded wheelchair back bit. Ta-da, you have space for another buggy! But as I said, these were rookies. I guess I forgive them.
But buses are not your only option, no no. Although the tube network is largely unaccessible, there are ways round this. If you use tube stations with only a few steps, the toddler can get out and walk down holding your hand (assuming he’s not asleep) while you bump the buggy down, with the other hand. Takes some practice. But here’s the amazing thing – some tube stations ARE accessible! Going to Walthamstow from Brixton the other day, I was amazed that there was not a single step in Brixton tube from street to train. And all the lifts were in working order. On New Year’s Day and everything! Blackhorse Rd at the other end is a regular haunt of ours, so I know that it involves one escalator and nothing else. Taking a pushchair on an escalator is scary and requires a firm grip (always push the buggy on first then lean it on your chest going up or just hang onto it going down) but again, you get used to it. Please don’t sue me if you and/or your toddler fall down an escalator.
Anyways, bits of the Victoria Line are easy buggy-wise (Vauxhall is a lift+escalator, Green Park is allegedly now entirely step-free) and the new trains have buggy spaces and everything! The new end of the Jubilee Line (i.e. Waterloo to Stratford) is all pretty accessible. Northern Line tends to involve 10-20 steps, as does the Bakerloo. A good tip is to use the Journey Planner on the tfl website, which allows you to select “accessibility options” and tick things like “I cannot use stairs” and “I cannot use escalators” (it’s under “advanced options”). There are some glitches in it, and it may try and send you through Oxford Circus at rush hour but mostly it’s useful. Another tip – avoid rush hour. But you knew that, right?!
Other options-wise, overland trains are handy links and toddlers love choo-choos but they seem to involve a LOT of steps. I’ve been caught out that way at both London Fields and Kentish Town. Probably 30-40 steps at each. A handy one that people always forget is the Thames Clipper. No steps at all! Granted, it will only go to and from very specific places but it’s been dead handy for us getting back from Greenwich and Docklands. Talking of these two places, an almost entirely useless link is about to open over the river in the form of a cable car. I know this as we sat in one of the cars in the Transport Museum today. I can’t think of a single occasion when I’ve needed to get from Greenwich to Docklands but I may go visit just for the fun of it.
So, that’s it. All my wisdom on London Transport with a toddler vomited out in my longest post yet. I hope you learned something, if only that I seem to have a lot of photos of Roo on various modes of transport (there have been some verrrry long bus journeys, remember…). Just don’t be scared to do it – it does take a bit of *cough* assertiveness sometimes and don’t assume that anyone will a) help you carry a buggy up steps b) move out of the way without being asked or c) give you a seat just because you’re pregnant AND have a toddler. But sometimes people do do these things and it reminds you that people can be nice after all 🙂
I never intended this to be a trilogy. But in the words of Fraulein Maria, I just can’t seem to stop saying things. So, if you’ve followed our adventures thus far you’ll know that we have arrived in Germany (misguided present tense there – we’re not still in Germany. I’m in my front room, vaguely watching “Supernatural”), in the garrison town of Gütersloh. So, if the VERY likely event that you have clicked onto a blog about London in the hope of toddler-based tips in the Westphalia region, you’re in luck! I’ll talk you through it.
The Germans seem to have some good ideas re toddler entertaining. We ate out every day we were there (all three days we were there) and everywhere seemed to have a kids menu and a play area. Granted we went to the same place twice, but as a survey on German eateries goes, the town scored highly. The place we went to twice was called Celonas, in the town centre. It had a pretty standard nuggets-und-chips kids menu but also a lunchtime buffet that Roo happily grazed from on the first day (and it was kostenlos for the kind. Hooray!). It’s – I guess – Spanish themed menu but the buffet was pretty darn German. Not that I’m complaining, as currywurst is in my blood (not literally, that would be pretty gross). It had a play area, with play oven, blocks and books and downstairs there was a nice changing table with the pictured-above cardboard house next to it. There were quite some tears when we had to remove Roo from the house. It was ugly. The scene, not the house. They also had the same ikea lamp and toy box that we have from home. That helped us to settle in, having come straight from the station. (They have chips, they have blocks…he will later discover that they have Beebies. How much more settling in did Roo need?!) A very relaxed way of eating, as Roo came to the table as and when he fancied food and just played happily the rest of the time. A definite recommendation.
On the second day, we went to a garden centre. The Germans love their Gartencenters! On the drive to this specific garden centre, we passed at least four others. And very few spectacularly presented gardens… This particular garden centre (which I believe was called Gartencenter Gütersloh) had a free soft play area. On the whole, fairly similar to an English soft play, so Roo approved. He really didn’t get culture shock at all. The cafe was large, they were very accomodating towards toddlers and again they had a kids menu of the dinos-und-chips variety. Mit dip! I seemed to have some problems with the girl on the till, which I assumed at first was my German but on reflection she may have been new. When I went to buy more ketchup for 90 cents and handed over 1 Euro…only for her to try and give me back 2 Euros. That was my first clue.
So, much fun was to be had in the Gartencenter. What else was there to do in Gütersloh? Well, there was a Christmas market (reminiscent of Winter Wonderland), with a carousel that Roo enjoyed (he chose a pink cadillac, adorned with pictures of Elvis), a German take on Punch and Judy and -on the last day – an empty stage full of Christmas trees, that I’m pretty sure Roo wasn’t meant to play on. But you try stopping an overexcited toddler yelling “‘Ismas tree! Ismas tree!!” and darting off among them. We ended up hauling him away in yet another ugly scene. So you like Germany then, Roo?!
In a nutshell, then, that’s Gütersloh with a toddler. I know it may not be of immediate use to most people who read this blog but I hope you enjoyed it. And if you’re looking for somewhere to visit next Christmas, well there you go. Sorted! For a small fee, I can give you the contact details of the friends we stayed with…I’m sure they’d love to have you there too…
So, this is a departure from the norm I admit, and it’s sure gonna skew that Google map…but bear with me. When can you do something wacky and out-of-the-ordinary if not at Christmas? Or at least on the second day of January…
You may recall from my last proper post (not the wordpress report thing -that was just a special 50th post/end of year post) that we foolishly boarded an aircraft with our small child. Turns out that if you sit on one of those things long enough (a mere 55 minutes in this case – so about the same time it takes to get to Bethnal Green), you arrive in another country! And an actual other country. I know East London feels like one sometimes.
First job was to locate the bus that went to the train station from the airport. Kein problem! Or so I thought….Despite being called the “Airport Express” and despite that german efficiency, the bus only ran once every hour and a half. Luckily, “Kevin” (really must stop calling him that) had FINALLY fallen asleep, so Nathan and I had a coffee and waited. The bus took about 40 minutes to get to the station, with Roo still asleep, Nathan falling asleep and me attempting not to fall asleep and was a bit of a tour of scenic Dortmund. Next time, I think we may just get a taxi.
But excitement! For we were at the station! And stations mean what, Reuben? Yes, that’s right! Choo-choo Zugs! Just like the ones you’re waving in my face right now, in a misguided attempt to get Mummy to build your Chuggington interactive railway. Shh dear, Mummy’s blogging. And also can’t build that railway. Ask Daddy to do it.
Obviously, Roo was awake and lively again by the time we got to the Bahnhof. Once again, there was nowhere to sit (is this some kind of conspiracy?!), so I left Nathan with all the stuff and went to show Roo the German choo-choos. Just as exciting as English ones, apparantly. And they have numbers and stuff, which is always a winner. Luckily, we didn’t need tickets to get onto the platforms. Luckily, as we didn’t have any tickets. As we were at the machine, attempting to buy tickets two people approached us. Through my fairly rusty German, I discerned that these people both had tickets to sell us – one wanted a single person, the other was looking for two people to make up a group. Don’t ask me whyit seemed like a good idea to agree to this, but we went with the man looking for two people. Nine Euros each, and we’d meet him on the platform with the money just before the train went.
I know what you’re thinking – this is going to end horribly. Well, HA! It didn’t! He was an honest sort, and we all got to Gütersloh for the princely sum of 18 Euros. Shame on you for thinking the worst of him… Anyhow, we handed over the money shortly before we got on the train and had to sit with him all the way to Gütersloh but it’s OK, we didn’t have to make conversation or anything – he just read his paper. We are, after all, Londoners even when we’re abroad and you just don’t talk to strangers on public transport unless you absolutely have to.
I think I’ll leave our adventures in and around the garrison town of Gütersloh for another time. Let me leave you with a few tips on travelling on a double-decker Zug with your toddler. First off – double decker means steps going down as well as up. Getting a buggy on is never going to be easy. Secondly, the aisle is not quite wide enough to comfortably get a buggy down. Learn these two phrases – “Entschuldigung” (excuse me) and “es tut mir leid” (sorry). It won’t make the Germans stop glaring at you but it might make you feel better. Thirdly, your toddler will love being on a double-decker choo-choo and that makes up for everything else. Pretty much.
Happy New Year, blog-readers!
Apparantly, you lot come from all six continents (I don’t count Antarctica – but who does?!). If you want to see more of my blog stats for the year, have a look below. It’s all awfully clever. Of course, I’ll understand if you have better things to do…
Here’s a top tip for you re travelling with a toddler – whatever you do before taking your child on a flight, don’t watch the first two Home Alone movies. As you settle into your seat, a creeping realisation will come over you that you have forgotten…something. A moment later it comes – “KEVIN!” Whether or not “Kevin” is happily sitting next to you, wittering about “air-o-PLANE”s is irrelevant. It’s the paranoia and panic that really stops you enjoying the complimentary sweets and comics*
*Available only in the Topsy and Tim book. Definitely not available on EasyJet.
So, travelling with a toddler on a budget airline….how does that go exactly? Well, I’ll tell you. Happy Christmas by the way! To start with, you will be flying tear-jerkingly early in the morning, from somewhere which not even the loose boundaries of this blog could class as “London”. This will involve snatching your child from his bed at 3AM while he’s busy dreaming about dinosaurs and taking him out in the rain in his PJs (“cold! wet!”). You’ll tuck him back into is duvet once he’s strapped into his carseat, imagining that this will facilitate him going back to sleep. Oh no! By now, he has realised you are on An Adventure so will be wide-eyed and a little bushy-tailed. He will request an apple at some point, only to clutch onto it and at no point attempt to eat it. He will chatter all the way to Luton. A slightly hungover daddy at this point will only help matters.
This liveliness will come at a cost – the cost being a meltdown when you get to airport parking and have to transfer him out of carseat into bus shelter and then onto bus. If you attempt to dress him in trousers, puddlesuit, jumper and coat at this point you may think it’ll make the meltdown better. No! Foolish parent! It will make the meltdown worse. Go back and re-study Parenting for Dummies. None of the snacks you have brought with you will be suitable bribing materials and you will all be very cold. This is all a natural consequence of catching a bus at 4AM in December. At NO POINT attempt to separate the boy from his slippers. Unbeknown to you, he has formed a deep attachment to his slippers and needs them on hand (sometimes literally)at all points, luckily for you, they were attached to him when you removed him from bed and attached to the carseat when you board the bus. You never intended to take them to Germany with you but here they are, stuffed into the back of the carseat as you’re hurtling through the quiet roads of Central Bedfordshire. So you’re taking them. And that will prove to be fortunate for you….
Once at the airport, the boy will continue to whinge through check-in and security. You’re only queuing for check-in as the EasyJet website told you you had to check in the buggy. Or so you thought! You don’t, but you should have got the buggy tagged. Pity the EasyJet lady didn’t know that. You proceed to Security, with 3x hand luggage, toddler, buggy and carseat only to be told that the carseat should a)be tagged and b) have been checked in. Listen to this man! He knows! You don’t listen to the man, get the thing tagged and continue to drag it through security.
Think security at an airport is fun normally? Try it with a tired 2-and-a-half-year-old who has suddenly decided he has had a Second Wind and wants to run off. How exactly do you fold a buggy down, hold onto the toddler, take all your coats and some of your shoes off AND remove your liquids and ensure they are placed in a clear plastic bag? You tell me. How do you refrain from saying “Balls!’ when one of the plastic bags splits, scattering your cosmetics over the airport floor? Again, you tell me. It could have been much stronger, so I consider myself the model of restraint. Of course, we could just move on once we’d gathered our things up, nein? Nein! As part of the heightened security protocol, high risk liquids have to be tested with what I’d assume is some kind of pH tester-stick-thing (that’s the technical term) and clearly, Johnson’s baby shampoo falls into this category. So again, I clutched onto the toddler and the hand luggage while watching the man slowly test the shampoo (not a bomb! who knew?!) and then piled on all our winter layers again. In an airport roughly the temperature of Central Africa. A slightly hungover daddy at this point will only help matters.
So, we were through security! Time for a sit-down? Nein! Luton airport at 6AM is clearly THE place to hang out and every square metre of space, including seats, was rammed with people. So, we found a space by the games arcade, piled up our stuff and took it in turns to wait with it while I got juice, apple and crisps for the boy (hey, anything goes when you’re travelling) and we both went to the loo. Roo meanwhile was happily clambering over the cars and motorbikes in the arcade and playing with the air hockey table. Win! Pity we had to rapidly move on to the gate, which involved queuing down a flight of concrete steps. You try doing this with a buggy. So, buggy had to be folded, Roo had to walk, Nathan had to skitter up and down the steps when there was a gap in the queue, carrying the carseat and buggy down. You may recall, I’m not actually supposed to be carrying anything at the moment.
Ah, the carseat. Remember what the man at security said? That we couldn’t take the carseat on the plane? Well, here was verse two and it was a case of Once More With Feeling. There was no way that carseat was going on the plane with us – should have been checked in. Never heard of such a thing etc etc. Well, Miss EasyJet, allow me to quote from your own website, which I did at the time but didn’t have the luxury of copy+paste at hand. “Car seats can be taken onboard for any child aged 6 months to 3 years for whom you have paid a full fare seat..” Check it – it’s here. If you read it several times before departure, as I did, you will be left with the lasting impression that not only could you take a carseat aboard, you also should take one otherwise your little cherub will not be allowed to fly. In other words, if I could have checked it in right at the beginning, why would I have dragged the bloody thing all the way through the airport? This is the second time in this post I have used a mild swear word and I apologise. Something culminated in me at this point – the early start, the being pregnant, the dragging the toddler and large amounts of stuff around for the last few hours – and I did shout at the EasyJet lady. I’m sorry, EasyJet lady. But I was right.
Anyhoo, things progressed smoothly from thereon in. We were allowed to leave the carseat with the buggy at the aircraft steps, we were given priority boarding so we all got to sit together, Roo didn’t cry during takeoff and the people on either side didn’t kill us when they heard “Topsy and Tim go on an aeroplane” for the third time. I mean, he tried to climb out of his seat a few times when we were taxiing and always wanted the table down when it had to be up but these are minor concerns. So, that was flying with a toddler. The transferring across Dortmund and the train to Gütersloh can wait for another time. But that was the experience of a toddler in Luton airport. Read and learn from our mistakes…
Refitting is the reverse of removal. Only in German.
We’ve had two stabs at Winter Wonderland this year. The first time, we were meeting friends who’d come up from Reading for the evening to enjoy the wintery ambience. Due to going to another party in the afternoon (get us!), we got there around 6ish, queued for half an hour to get in and then had to go after an hour cause it was Roo’s bedtime. As flying visits go, it wasn’t unsuccessful – we sat in the bar overlooking the ice rink and my friend Martin taught Roo how to breathe on the window and then draw on it. It would have been a pleasant trip if it hadn’t been for half an hour in a crowd at the gate, with a toddler who was extremely restless and extremely anxious to prove that he could nip through those people’s legs and get in there first. And I’m sure you can, Reuben. Mummy, Daddy and buggy can’t.
And that’s the problem with Winter Wonderland – the crowds. When people describe something as having a “festival atmosphere”, they generally mean it’s happy and laid back and summery. This had a festival atmosphere for all the wrong reasons. This had the atmosphere of waiting at the arena gates at Reading while the bolshy security guards let people through one at a time. And you didn’t even get to see supergrass at the end.
I don’t know what they can do about it though. It’s free, it’s popular, you can’t let too many people in for fear of overcrowding. I understand why it’s like that, it’s just not fun. And once you get in, it’s a slow shuffle through the crowds and -again- the danger of letting the toddler walk when he can fit through those legs and you can’t. We lost him briefly, just the once, but it was enough. Golly gosh, it was enough.
So, having done the whole thing once, we decided to try again on a Sunday afternoon, to see if that was a bit quieter. Short answer – not so much. We didn’t have to queue to get in but it was still a slow shuffle about the place. It was full of other parents and buggys, so clearly a lot of people had also thought this was a reasonable place to go to with a toddler. Wherein lies the problem.
But enough complaining! Onto the positives! The second time we went, we were determined to do stuff for Roo as opposed to just sitting in the bar. And we did. Toddler-sized rollercoaster was a hit, especially as he could pull the reindeer’s reins and make the bells jangle. Nathan looked terrified though.
So, mission was accomplished. What else did he like? Well, anything with flashing lights that he could stare at (so pretty much everything), giant snowman and penguin figures he could hug and a shiny bauble he could see himself in. And he enjoyed dancing on the table in the bar to the sound of a German cover of “Cotton Eyed Joe”. No, really. It was possibly the worst music in the entire world, but that didn’t stop my boy from climbing onto the shiny red tablecoth, straightening himself up to his full height (small) and having a stomp about. I was tempted to leave him there.
VERDICT: As massive tourist attractions in Hyde Park go, it’s not toddler unfriendly, it’s just so soooo crowded. We didn’t have a bad time, just a bit of a frantic one (especially that ten seconds when we lost Roo). You can see how it might be nice and Christmassy for a wander round the quaint stalls, browsing things that no-one would ever buy (snoods? really?) and enjoying a mulled wine plus shot, but it’s so crowded it’s impossible to do that. Unlike my friend Ant, it’s not my idea of Hell. But it’s far from a wonderland.
Toddlers have a way of scuppering your plans don’t they? This morning’s plan was to go and see Arthur Christmas at the Ritzy in Brixton. Nathan and I were quite excited about taking Roo to the cinema, as it’s something we haven’t done since we took him to see Toy Story 3 about a year ago and he wasa little *ahem*restless. Meaning that Mummy missed the best – and most poignant – bit and therefore my chance to sob like a little girl. But given his new habit of gawping fish-like at a Pixar movie of a Saturday, this meant that a) I could curl up in a foetal position and cry my heart out last week as Andy played with his toys one last time and b) he might be ready to try the cinema again. But as you can tell from the opening sentence, this didn’t quite happen. On the 10-minute bus journey to Brixton, Roo was quiet and by the time we’d passed the police station, his eyelids were fluttering closed. Plan=scuppered.
So, we decided to go for a coffee instead – well, a coffee for Nathan, something decaffeinated and dairy-free for me. Humbug. Federation Coffee in Brixton Village was full to bursting (who were all these people who were up at 10:30 on a Saturday morning? Some of them didn’t even have kids!), as was the crepe place opposite. We ended up in San Marino, opposite New Look where I enjoyed a peppermint tea and tried not to covet Nathan’s latte. Then we went to Poundland….this has all the makings of a classic anecdote, doesn’t it? Fun fact was that I went to Poundland yesterday as well! Only in Lewisham that time. Departures from the norm for me, as a die-hard 99p store girl…..but this time I was prepared to spend the extra penny per item.
Is this not gripping you yet? Let me get to the point. Reuben woke up as I barged him into a display of flashing Santa pants (or something), so we decided to take him to Playzone at the leisure centre. Which looked a little like this…
Then, we left Playzone with the promise of a very special person for Reuben to meet, as promised by a chalk board in Brixton Station Rd. It took a bit of searching, and chatting to the nice man handing out fliers for his Shakespeare play (not a crazy, as I’d first assumed). But there he was…walking down the steps by the leisure centre!
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Irie, Man
🙂