I’m on one of those trains where everyone is wearing a suit and staring intently at their iPads. Three people have already looked at me, thought better of it and moved to another carriage. I’m dressed pretty smartly and I’m working on a presentation, but I’m raising suspicion.
Moo is just six months old, young enough to still need regular milk feeds, old enough to be entertained by toys. Over the next two days I’m delivering some training workshops, sleeping at a colleague’s house, attempting an evening out and negotiating the London Undergound at rush-hour. I have obviously gone bat-shit insane because I’m doing all this with Moo in a sling. It’s a lovely sling, a cute Victoria Slinglady wrap, but there’s a baby in it.
Moo wriggles and pushes at the tray-table with her foot so I give up on the lap top and focus on staying comfortable for the journey.