If a baby rolls off a kerb, try and catch it!

Hampstead is relatively quiet. From time to time we can hear the joyous screaming of Heath adventure, and the odd bird or two, but unlike most of London, there is this reassuring silence. But usually during the week, paths, alleyways, causeways, walkways and scenic housing routes, are plyed by the push chair, enclosed with either a mummy or a nanny from endless nations. Most smile, others discuss how they've become involved in the origami society at the local primary, and the majority laugh with the sense of wealth, a hearty laugh with suggestion aplenty. Whilst mothers carelessly trek their baby buggies and babies, through the forementioned paths, the nanny's apologetically stroll. They fear upsetting the rich Americans who constantly frequent the crepe stand, or the rich Arab wife who every so often contempously bosses around her driver post-Tesco.

One nanny was plucking blossom from the suburban tree. Beautiful. Pollen floating from it, visible gently through the air. The distraction was great however, that the baby, not her own, started to roll down the path. Treacherous potentially, the deep granite kerb awaiting, pram dropping and a woeful nanny later having to explain how the baby "fell". Fortunately it didn't. Everything was grand. Great in fact, fine, fantastic. I was able to be a hero for 5 minutes, sprinting as the baby was rolling.

There were three in the bed, and the little one said, "Roll over, roll over!", so they all rolled over and the one fell out.......................... you know the rest.