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There is nothing more competitive than the Yummy Mummy.

This is where the one-upmanship of life starts. Watch a group of young mothers gather with their offspring in a coffee shop for that all-important display of early mother accoutrement – the most flagrant display of needless expense since Jonathan Ross’s contract.

Did you know that even the term ‘pushchair’ is SO yesterday? Pushchairs are for the  lower classes – those for whom sense and income might just about balance – and can easily be spotted by the small, round tubing of their construction.

Small round tubing; the  Ford Fiesta of baby perambulation. If you can pass the tubing of your pram through a  1cm hole, not only are you cheap, but you’re also putting your baby’s life at risk.

Not from physical harm. Just dying from embarrassment.

The pushchair has been consigned to the rubbish dump of recent history, along with leg warmers, shell suits and TV-AM.

A mummy can’t be yummy unless she has a buggy.

There are some very specific design ratios that must be applied to the yummy mummy and her buggy.:

1) Waist-to-Tubing ratio.  The thinner you are, the fatter the brushed aluminium of your buggy. The ultimate Yummy (Posh Spice) was actually the same circumference as the tubing of  the Beckham buggy.

2) Wheel-to-Income ratio. The fewer wheels you have, the greater your display in wealth. Less is more. ‘Three Wheels on My Wagon’ may have been a joke song when I was a lad, but today a tripod arrangement says more about you than dungarees from Oskosh B’Gosh ever can.

3) Spokes-to-Social Awareness ratio. “Spokes are SO tacky;  they just aren’t aerodynamically viable any longer. Vance and I are trading off the carbon footprint on our Range Rovers by cutting down of the turbulence  that Troy’s buggy causes.”

4) Colours-to-Conscience ratio. Baby blue, OUT. Baby pink, OUT.  “We don’t want Kumkwat growing up with preconceived notions of his/her gender. So we’ve gone for taupe with a aubergine lining. Very eco, you know?”

It is now 10:15 in the morning and the usual suspects have gathered. All except Sally-Ann-Pixibelle. Surely she can’t be about the trump Phoebe-Pipette, who last week brought Savannah in what looked like a golf trolley? There is a commotion at the door. Heads swivel as Sally-Ann-Pixibelle arrives on the latest must have: the TrioBike

And I take my hat off to the genius designer who saw a gap in the market and married the two biggest drivers of Yummy Mummydom ; status-conscious baby paraphernalia and the obsession with keeping in shape.

So here is Sally-Ann-Pixibelle on her buggy-exerciser hybrid.

And despite the proportions of the door and the shop’s fire regulations, she is determined to fit it in – along with baby Cinnamon – for all to see.

And in a small corner of Berkshire, there is a faint green glow of envy.

Popularity: 67% [?]

The front page of this morning’s ‘Daily Telegraph‘ carried one of those ‘let’s-test-a-potential-policy-to-see-how-many-people-choke-on-their-muesli’ stories.

This one’s from the Department of Health.

Apparently, it’s considering payments to a growing (sic) part of the population, to encourage them to walk their children to school.

I need a mug of coffee
I need a can of Coke
I need a bacon butty
I need to have a smoke.
I need a pie or pastry
A bagel, bun or bap
I need a snack that’s tasty
I need a chicken wrap.
I need a cake that’s sticky
I need Kentucky Fried
(I need another ciggy
So I need to go outside.)
I need a Double Whopper
I need some extra fries
Two sugars in my cuppa
And make it Super Size.
I need spicy tortillas
I need some saucy dips
I need chocolate and vanilla
I need saveloy and chips
I need a strawberry sundae
Frozen on a stick
I need a latte grande
With whipped cream, extra thick
I need a pint of larger
I need dry roasted nuts
I’ll be out in the garden
Knee-deep in ash and butts.
I need a bag of salted crisps
I need pints two and three
I need the fourth and fifth and sixth
(I need to have a pee.)
I need to have a balti
I need a madras too
A naan bread and a bahji
Some rice and sag aloo.

I need to keep filling my face
I need a doc to weigh me:
If the fat police say I’m obese
The government will pay me.

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Popularity: 1% [?]