These things really do need the insanely fanatical hosts that I instantly want to chloroform to be vaguely bearable.
Underground
I was initially dispirited by the floor cushions that had been laid out in a semicircle out of snack-slinging distance of the host.
My heart sank when she immediately began poking around the set like a peeping tom in the girls’ changing room.
My excitement about trying out a new, gallery-based activity was pretty evenly matched by a fairly strong sense of foreboding.
Everything here was child-friendly provided Bab didn’t spend so long playing with it that she found ways for it to not be.
Maybe not a completely irrational idea but I did feel like a massive, irresponsible dickhead standing in the queue for the lift for over an hour.
Going out with the urchins under the pretence that you’re a nice normal family often serves as a startling reminder that the opposite is true.
With any luck the park’s restful ambience might rub off on your mini mob, if only for half an hour or so.
Ultimately all you’re going to do is insert a paintbrush in their fist and grit your teeth while they splash paint indiscriminately at the wall.
The main space resembled an NCT outing to the Bugaboo factory, with piled-up pushchairs, harassed mums and squawking toddlers.
bablands.com 