SammyTheSnake

I'm on a train platform in drizzle, burdened with large bags and a pushchair or pram, waiting for somebody getting off to get on with it so I can get on. He dithers and then gallantly offers to let me on first, which is less helpful than just getting out of my way, but I can't really refuse the gesture.

I clamber aboard awkwardly and squeeze through the doors and vestibule into the carriage. There aren't many spare seats but I find one that's blocked by a collapsible pushchair that hasn't been collapsed. I cram my bags into a luggage rack and collapse the offending furniture to get it out of the way. I half collapse my own pushchair before remembering that I need it for the baby.

I start settling down as the train starts moving. Once I get over the faff of getting onto the train I attend to the baby. The baby is a blond boy who looks a bit old to be in a pushchair, perhaps 2 1/2, though somewhat smaller and slightly built than Harriet. I get the impression that he's called Arthur or something similar, though he looks a little reminiscent of a friend's nipper called Jonno.

I realise that the drizzle on the platform has left his flannelette clothes a bit wet and he's been patiently and quietly sitting and not complaining. I apologise and bustle around grabbing a towl and drying his hair and hands and ask him if he would rather I took his top off to dry him or leave it on, he says he wants me to leave the top on with language skills that again seem a bit advanced for a kid in a pushchair, perhaps 4.
I make a game of drying him by making silly noises and tickling and such to cheer him up after being soggy and chilly.

Behind the pushchair I spot CM looking frustratedly around and muttering under his breath that it's going to take him over an hour to get to work, he grumps through the door to the next carriage and out of sight and I return to Arthur, deciding that his clothese are now dry enough that I don't need to change him into fresh ones.