
Anyhoo, earlier this week, in a rare moment when my car was actually working, I decided to buy a new baby seat. We've had our previous one for a good two months now, so it seemed like a good time to splash out. I'd been onto the Britax website, told them I drive a 1998 Skoda Felicia and, when they'd stopped laughing, they recommended the seat on the left. It arrived on Tuesday.
So having read the instructions and practiced strapping a cuddly pig into the seat, I attempted to fit it into my car yesterday morning. I'm not saying it was a saga, but if it had taken any longer, our child would have grown too big to fit into it. The problem is that despite being recommended for my exact make and model of car, my seatbelts aren't actually long enough to go round it.
But after two hours of discussion, experimentation and swearing, we eventually found a solution. Although I still think my idea of just never taking the baby anywhere in the car was better.

Anyway, the reason for our trip into town was to get Lisa fitted for a nursing bra. They refused to do it a month ago on the grounds that she wasn't lactating, but now that she's on the verge of labour, they're willing to get out a tape measure. Unfortunately September's obviously a popular time for bra-fittings, and all the seats in Bravissimo were taken, so rather than stand for half an hour while a stranger man-handled Lisa's breasts, I headed for the nearest charity shop.
Which would have been a good idea, were it not for the fact that the Brighton Food Festival is on at the moment, and the streets are filled with people selling free-range oysters and organic pheasant. Having spent ten minutes trying to walk fifty yards down the road, and come close to being trampled by a few hundred foodies, I was just about ready to give up and go home.
But fortunately God sent me a sign...

Anyhoo, the donut perked me up just enough to enable me to escort Lisa around Boots for an hour. How anyone can spend that long in one shop, I have no idea. I've never even worn boots for that long. By the time we'd finished I could barely lift our basket, but by way of compensation, Lisa's purse was a good deal lighter.
From there we staggered to M&S for some labour ward pyjamas, before collapsing onto a bus and returning home, where I checked the racing results and found that I'd won £65.88. The three bras I bought Lisa cost me £76. I knew I should have staked another pound.
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