Cute ducklings and lambs have already appeared in my reader; I’ve not been an Early Bird this weekend.
Next door, we have a tiny new first baby called Sophie. Her young parents (everything is relative) have replaced their saloon car with a 7 seater estate. They have a ‘pram’ that looks like some four-wheel drive industrial low-loader, capable of transforming into a forklift truck and from there to a self-sufficient space capsule capable of reaching the planet Mars before the first milk-tooth. It’s starkly coloured red and black and with it’s maxicomfort-hightech-safety-enhanced-indestructable-non-flamable-waterproof-light weight materials, it can be used to remove a concussed 19 stone International lock-forward from the field of play during Test Match in any combination of 6 wheel placements.
I suspect it has a lawn-mower attachment and a cappuccino machine.
So by contrast I offer a pair of latter-day fashionistas; me and my older brother Michael, dressed for tea in Salisbury, togged out in hand-knitted cardigan and jersey, home-made shorts and very, very shiny shoes. Brother Michael holds the families ‘bellows’ camera to record the day looking please with something he’s done (better not go there) and to top it all we have our berets, worn in a rather natty fashion, guaranteed to give the neighbours an idea of what the best-deseed children should be wearing in 1950.