Dot writes: sorry to go all Lynne Truss, but I do have tiny private paroxyms of rage from time to time at the awful inconsiderate rudeness of people. The targets reflect the triviality of my life, I’m afraid. (I know mothering is one of the most important jobs anyone can do but…) One of my recurring internal rants is against perfectly healthy people without suitcases who rush for the lift at DART stations and don’t pause to see if there’s someone who actually needs it labouring to catch up with them. I reckon it takes a bit over two minutes to cross over to the other side of the DART line with the buggy, waiting on each side for the lift doors to close with infuriating slowness and the posh male voice to announce ‘Doors…closing. Lift going UP/DOWN.’ (I call this voice the Squadron Leader, by the way.) If someone beats me to it I can quite easily miss the train.
Anyway, I vented such a private rant at Blackrock on Saturday when on my way back to Killiney, but there was still five minutes to the Bray train so it should have been alright. The Squadron Leader escorted me to the top of the bridge and I crossed over to the other side – only to find that the lift on the other side was shut up with a locked blind and out of service. Aaargh! I would have to put the buggy (which was hung with shopping) into two-wheel mode and bump Prawn down three flights of steps. With much struggling, after taking the shopping off the buggy, I managed to switch to two-wheel mode without catapulting Hugh into the sea, and I started bumping. The steps are so designed that there are two points where they turn back on themselves, meaning that one has a small landing on which to turn a sharp corner. The big wheels on the stokke are fixed and turning was no laughing matter. I had got to the lower of the two landings when the train arrived. Cue much wailing from Dot. And then my opinion of humankind was greatly improved, because the train driver saw me in his mirror, and actually hopped out of the cab to come and help me down the last of the steps and get me, the buggy, the shopping and the increasingly vocal baby into the train. In my fluster I’m not certain I properly said thankyou, but I hope I did – I was very, very grateful.
On the other hand, on the minus side for humanity, a couple of days ago someone left a comment on this blog to say how boring and self-absorbed it was and how a pram in the hall is the death of creativity. We deleted it, but here I am feeding the troll by mentioning it (and probably confirming that troll’s opinion of us into the bargain). What on earth is the point of such a comment? If you find a blog dull, why not just move on? Why stop to be rude? But I have to admit I saw a blog today that was written in text speak and I was tempted to comment saying LEARN TO WRITE. But I didn’t. I’m just bad-mouthing them behind their backs, which is the only polite thing to do.