I saw a man swear at the driver as he got off a bus and kick the door as it drove away, all with a sleeping baby in his arms while the mother watched. Fairly disgraceful behaviour. The main problem is that the man was me, and the baby was Luca.
Ashamed? Thoroughly. But what is wrong with London bus drivers? They are a miserable bunch of ****s, that's what. No, I shouldn't generalise. But they are. Each and every unhelpful, ignorant last one of them.
This particular driver point-blank refused Mum's request to get off through the front doors, forcing her back through an assault course of other prams, rowdy teenagers and elderly folk of limited mobility. All while I looked on helpless, trying to prevent Luca from waking up and realising how long it had been since he last fed.
Given the opportunity to ease the passage of fellow Londoners with the simple press of a button, most of us would press the button. Most of us.
Although it was worth it to meet a new arrival and Luca's youngest friend:
Getting on like a house on fire and not, in any way, slung together for a cute photo opp to amuse the grown-ups.
Mum sailed through the long, long day with her usual heroic calm. Luca was only mildly annoyed at the extended use of a boiling hot tube:
I thought I was fine. Then I threw my toys out of my pram, almost literally. You live and learn.
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