Rain on Mummy's Parade

It was a morning, much like all the others, with a sky the colour of old knickers spitting a fine drizzle over the lucky occupants of Southern England. Chickie looked up at his Director of Entertainment, expecting to be amused.

I racked my brains for alternate options to spending my day buried up to the eyebrows in plastic balls, whiling away the dreary hours in the technicolour nightmare that is an Indoor Children’s Activity Centre. Whilst I had no doubt Chickie would happily amuse himself feeding mummy through the giant mangler and making her swing from the monkey bars, I fancied something less energetic.

Eventually, a cunning plan developed. It was risky but filled with possibilities. M&S Holmbush - undercover shopping.

Chickie was wedged into the trolley seat at the front. His new potty, a full range of snacks and his toy car collection, placed in the compartment at the back. I was prepared. How bad could it be?

After a successful start that found my trolley brimming with summer wear, things took a downward turn in Home Furnishings when, entranced by loo roll holders, I made my first mistake.

Never position toddler within two metres of anything you don’t wish to be harmed. A kind lady picked up the pile of towels Chickie had swept onto the floor. As Chickie loudly informed her that she was a ,” NAUGHTY LADY”, I muttered my apologies and pushed him away. Straight into the toy department.

Mistake Number Two. Avoid the toy department at all costs.

“Choo Choo!” screamed Chickie at the first sight of Thomas and his friends. After Chickie had made a full appraisal of each and every toy, mummy was losing interest. It took an Emergency Vehicle Set and a packet of chocolate biscuits to secure a quiet exit.

Next came, “Potty Mummy”. A twenty minute round trip that produced nothing other than a fully mobile Chickie who refused to get back into the trolley once released. A 100m sprint through menswear, finally led to the changing rooms and Mistake Numéro Trois.

Avoid changing rooms with curtains. I had just stepped into the pencil skirt when Chickie bolted. Ignoring my shrieks, he ran straight out, past the assistants on the desk and onto the shop floor. A little pink bullet, cackling like a looney.

In hot pursuit, came mummy, sporting grey ankle socks set off beautifully by the knee length skirt she was holding up like a towel. “Come back here NOW!” I said, trying to convey my utter seriousness whilst pretending to be good humoured to my fellow shoppers. Chickie picked up speed.

By the time I returned to the changing rooms, flushed from exertion and humiliation, the assistant had kindly moved my belongings to a new changing room with a lock. Chickie pressed the ‘Assistance’ button on entry and there his finger remained.

Chickie slept soundly that night, having had a lovely day at the Indoor Children’s Activity Centre that is Marks and Spencer.