My usual afternoon runs as follows: Pack orders while babies sleep, feed smallest baby, play with largest baby, bundle both up against the recent biting cold, manouver large pushchair outside for a bracing walk up to the post office to send a lovely bag full of orders. However, Monday's routine was thrown into an epic adventure against geography and the elements. Our pushchair turned out to have two flat tyres.
I unfortunately didn't take photos, so you'll have two imagine a three wheel buggy with two babies, two bulky bags of compacts, and two tyres flapping around like dead balloons. And me pushing the whole thing up the steepest hill in Halifax. The post office ain't called High Road Well for nothing. Maintaining my composure, sans mobile and sans gloves on the coldest day so far was no mean feat. If I'd rolled through dog poo too, I think I would have broken down into a sobbing wretch. As it was, I held it together long enough for the Squeaky Clean Car Wash and Mini Dealership to edge into view.
Squeaky Clean Damon and Dan did their best with their air compressor, and I was on my way again. The compacts were sent, and I didn't cry. I shall be forever indebted to those awesome chaps. And to, of course, my darling husband who picked up a puncture repair kit from B&Q and plans to tackle the offending tyres tomorrow.