Dealership

New pram.

V has been fixated on getting a new one for months. More months than we've had F for, I suspect. We've got a hand-me-down from Uncle D, a perfectly functional three-wheeler with a basinette fitting for baby. Nothing fancy, maybe a little battle-weary, but it works.

Well, okay, it worked. Three wheels is a good and stable arrangement, but the centre of gravity on the pram wasn't as low as it could be. Try and get it over a steep curb and it could feel a bit precarious. And it didn't have free wheels, you have to push down on the handlebars to turn a corner. V isn't as strong as usual at the moment after her illness, so pushing it up and down hills or round supermarkets was a lot tougher than it should have been.

And it was old, and the wrong colour, and one of the tyres wouldn't reinflate, and then screws started falling out of it for no obvious reason and look, it's just not even a decent design compared to all these new ones on this website and goddammit okay we'll go and get a new one. It only took mentioning it three times a day for three months to get me to agree.

Now, I'm not an unreasonable man (spoiler: I am an entirely unreasonable man). In all honesty, I couldn't really tell the difference between pram A and pram B when asked to give an opinion on a catalogue image. The idea of going to a special pram shop and trying to pick one out felt like a terrible minefield of an experience, especially when I know my wife already has strong and preconceived opinions on what we should get. "You like this one? Really?" Pressure plate tripped, kaboom, legs flying in all directions.

But it needed doing, so I steeled myself.

God, they're like car dealerships. Lot after lot of glistening moulded contours, sturdy all-terrain wheels and folding cockpits. Sat-nav and hidden machine guns on option, I don't doubt. And very helpful sales staff, ready to give you six confidential reasons why they personally would pick the 5000 SEK model over the 2500 SEK one, all of which revolved around the terrible risks to your infant's health entailed by not having adjustable suspension or a built-in cup holder.

Once I'd got over my curmudgeoning, though, it was kind of fun putting F in new buggies and taking her for quick spins up and down the aisles. She was definitely enjoying it, which cheered me on, at least. We got a four-wheeler with easy action steering, a seat that can face forward or back depending on who's sulking about what and red go-fasta stripes on the hood. As well as a sticker that promises the extremely dubious quality of Polar Protection. Yeah, just like Scott had.

Everyone was happy, not least the three sales assistants we got through. V bartered 10% off for taking the last of that particular model (Emmeljunga's Ozone. They are so like cars, right down to the desperately trendy urban names) off their hands, seeing as how it was the one out on display. Until the next one that they put there after we'd left, at any rate, but that's just my cynicism talking.

There's a kicker to this tale.

The morning after I fully expected our breakfast conversation to be about something other than new prams. How naive. "When we fly to Scotland, we're going to have to get a cheap and rubbish pram to take with us, because I'm not trusting Ryanair with this one."

Facepalm.