We went to visit Daddy’s Work today. Daddy works in a big shiny bank in the city. Inside, it is a bit like Logan’s Run. Everyone is definitely under 35, but they don’t make you dress in skin tight jump suits, thank Christ.
The loos have free tampons in them (‘special lady things’ as I told Ziggler, who swiped a couple).
The canteen where we had lunch was like an ocean of business-like serenity. Until we burst in, the double pushchair like a screaming, banana stained trolley o’ tantrum, pushed by the vision of straggly-haired frumpiness which was, of course, moi.
Incidentally, why do really successful business women all seem to wear towering porn-star high heels? Is it a height thing? Or is it the whole feminism slipped back twenty years thing?
Anyway. We went to check out the amazing free ’emergency’ nursery they have there. The ZIggler, mid potty training, has been not wanting to poo of late. She doesn’t like it, apparently. This nursery felt like a long drink on a hot day after the frantic city outside and the impeccable suitiness inside. Ziggler obviously agreed with me, as she went straight into the toddler-sized loos, picked herself a nice pink training seat, and pooed, and pooed, and pooed.
This was cause for celebration, of course, so on the way home we went to the book shop to select a treat. As we were paying, Ziggler decided to raise her dress above her head and show off her knickers (ok, ok – I bought the princess ones). Nearby was a classically gorgeous, Tag-Heuer-advert business-suited man who raised his eyebrows devilishly and said, ‘I say, that’s a bit racy for this time of day,’
The shop assistant and I giggled, smiled, and sighed in unison.