What’s creepier?

A strange man asking to photograph your baby in a shop? Or finding your wallet isn’t in your bag a little while later?

I hate the idea of a stranger going through my stuff. There wasn’t any money in the wallet, but it’s a hassle to get a new drivers licence, medicare card, credit cards, etc… And a possibly irreplaceable photograph of my grandmother.

But a wierdo hanging around the baby while my back was turned really freaks me out. Whether he took my wallet or not, it was a really horrible feeling, and I am reminded that my sunny desire to see the world as a happy place isn’t always realistic.

Of course, Inigo was looking spectacular yesterday as we cruised Broadway shops (Miriam and I took the babies to a French film in the morning). He was wearing a new Jam Tot’s Berry Plush nappy, with a jaguar print. And no shirt, because it was hot. Like a mini Johnny Weisemuller. Or “George of the Jungle” for the younger folk. The boy had loads of admirers, in one shop it got quite embarrassing. Before my wallet got pinched, I bought him a classy t-shirt that says “Chicks Dig Me”.