I've spent hours learning this lately, catapulted by search engines to the dank recesses of parenting forums that exist solely to imply I'm guilty of child abuse because I don't know the best sort of blanket to put in a pram yet.
Except, when she took the baby out of the pram, Rose noticed bruises.
You may not want to buy a Victorian pram.
We'd mistimed feeds, and found ourselves with the option of walking a mile home with a hungry baby going off like a siren inside his pram, or ducking into the most secluded corner of the nearest coffee shop and letting my wife feed him while I stood in front of them holding up her coat like some sort of panicky Poundland matador.
Cyril Connolly declared that the enemy of promise was the "pram in the hall".
Carswell was said to be throwing his "toys out of the pram" because he wanted to be the leader – though by the time Farage had reached the Question Time studio he had made Carswell's principled stance against taking taxpayers' cash his own.
We spent ages beforehand minimising the amount of damage we'd make – abandoning the pram in favour of a baby carrier, cramming all the assembled going-out paraphernalia into tiny satchels, deliberately picking a quiet train, and finding the most obscured seats in case he needed to breastfeed – and hoped against hope that he wouldn't cry.
Where's the pram supposed to go? Are men allowed to use the changing facilities?
At the bus stop a woman sat blankly while in the pram next to her, her baby cried.
We don't dispute that when a baby throws his toys out of the pram, he is actually doing his best to show how he feels.
I, thankfully, was spared, so was able to take care of wrangling the two enormous suitcases, car seat, pram, nappy bag, baby and travel documents all the way from Shepherd's Bush to the lemon-scented, bougainvillea-hung courtyard of El Fenn.
