Sam meets Victoria and Albert

It is Bank Holiday. It was pissing down with rain all day so decided to go to a museum. So obviously, did half of London. The queue for the natural history museum was as long as a diplodocus' tail. Same with the Science museum, so we opted for the V&A instead. London museums are great, very baby friendly really but when they are busy they are tricky to negotiate with a buggy. Anything that isn't a Maclaren would be virtually impossible. You have a choice, look at the exhibits or keep an eye on the buggy. Opt for the former and you invariably drive it into the back of an innocent bystanders legs, the latter and you have a good chance of knocking into some priceless sculpture. Also you can't really let a 9 month old baby out which means if they are anything like Sam, they get frustrated pretty quickly.
To be honest he was pretty good most of the time but you do find yourself half jogging round each exhibition to make sure you see as much as you can before it all kicks off. Still, it was good to go.
Here are a couple of pictures of Sam in all his cart-pushing glory.

Why dads need sheds

I get it now. I didn't before. When you have kids unless you live in a huge house, that's your personal space gone. Your kids will move in and spread their seemingly infinite collection of primary coloured stuff over your tastefully decorated living space. The front room, the bedrooms, the bathroom, the bath, the kitchen and everything in the cupboards, even the fridge will be relinquished to a baby onslaught. My decks, once my proudest possession lie dormant sandwiched between bags of Sam's stuff. I dare not even venture behind the sofa where yet more 'baby bags' and barely used carrying devices lie. This is why men need sheds. Somewhere they escape to, put their man stuff in, instruction manuals, electrical things, memories of the old hobbies you once had when you were cool, like said decks, or electric guitars or skateboards or mountain bikes. That sheds are normally crappy, leaking wooden things at the far end of the garden says a lot about where dads come in the domestic pecking order. As soon as your baby moves in, you start to be forced out. Fact.