I was hiding round the corner just now, relishing the last few gasps of my illicit cigarette (smoking breaks are no longer permitted in this establishment young lady), when a heavily pregnant woman walked past with a puppy on a lead, closely followed by her partner, who was clasping a sleeping toddler to his chest. The toddler had a red balloon, which he was managing to keep a tight grip on, despite his unconcious state.
I want that.
I want the puppy, and the pregnant belly, and the snoozing tot. I especially want the red balloon.
We'll overlook that -
a) the puppy was a bull mastiff, the notorious baby face biting breed.
b) the pregnant woman was sucking on her own illicit cigarette.
c) the partner looked only a few years older than his child.
d) they looked like they were on their way to the job centre. I've spent a lot of time at the job centre over the past few months. Forgive me a moment of narrow-minded snobbery, but I know the type.
Yes, we'll overlook all that, and instead, convince ourselves that when we get our very own family, we will spend our afternoons under a mango tree eating organic yoghurt and singing folk songs.