Milk & Manolos

One of the first times my mother met The Husband (of course then he was known simply as The Boyfriend) she took great pleasure at relaying stories about quite what an eccentric child I was. Her particular favourite is about my then obsession with the rain cover of my 1970’s Maclaren pushchair (in shocking scarlett) that I would insist upon wearing, albeit with a big gapping hole at the back, to lunch on Saturdays at our favourite Bistro. I would enter, like a grand dame, cape following in the wind, umbrella as tall as me in hand and politely request a table for three please. I would then quite often be found in the kitchen making friends with the chefs and visits to the toilets would normally total double numbers. It was then that my love for going out for a family lunch was cemented. This regular fixture has remained through numerous boyfriends, a turbulent adolescence and a newborn addition.

Our favourite place to eat en famille is the chain restaurant Giraffe. We’re such regulars that they know the Munchkin by name and follow her development like an dedicated friend or family member.

Sans baby, back in the day, we’d frequent Giraffe, usually for a delicious brunch followed by a light shop or perhaps an afternoon in the pub. The food then, as it is now, was eclectic, fresh and of an impressively high standard.

While a great place for an all adult affair, Giraffe certainly comes into it’s own when there are small children around. An extensive kids menu is offered and they’re always happy to tailor meals for fussy eaters. Quite early into motherhood I discovered the joys of meeting my friends at 5 pm, feeding the kids, and enjoying a glass of wine and a catch up. The kids are able to run around this child friendly haven, pick up books from the library there and have all in all jolly good time. Mid week, my friends and I able to take advantage of the two for one happy hour special so it works out to be a pretty cheap date, and something to look forward to when the day starts to drag. Numerous dates without kids have also enjoyed it - they can coo at the Munchkin and enjoy a cocktail or two, but then still have the rest of their evening to enjoy.

From personal experience the vibe rightly changes at about 7pm, the lights fade as do the bright colours and balloons, making it far more adult friendly … our love for it is so great we’ve even been known to go on a dates there.

The last time I spent a Sunday afternoon disco dancing was the Summer on 1992. That time it was on a sunny Greek Isle, fuelled entirely by Ouzo. Until yesterday that is, when the Munchkin, the Husband and I found Baby Loves Disco, and baby, she sure does.

At 2 pm we headed off to the Clapham Grand for an afternoon of dancing, and perhaps even a sherbet or two for the Husband and I. What greeted us was beyond our wildest dreams. A proper disco floor, lit from underneath in multicoloured squares of light, bubbles, smoke machines and lasers were just some of the things that helped keep us amused. The Husband headed to the bar, returning with a pint and a half of Stella in plastic beakers - I felt like I was 18 and at the Student Union again, which was a surprisingly nice feeling. As for the Munchkin, there were treats galore thanks to Organix and Heart FM, not to mention Naomi Timperley, the woman responsible for bringing BLD over to the UK.

Three sips of my Stella and I was ready to boogie. The Husband and Munchkin were a little more apprehensive. As I started to throw my moves the Munchkin pulled me back of the dance floor shouting ‘Away’. I was overjoyed. To embarrass your child at such a young age I think is pretty impressive. It of course didn’t stop me and before long we were all on the dance floor shaking our booty.

The last time I heard Salt n Peppa’s Push It was at my wedding. As the Husband and I turned to leave, we were confronted by our mothers thrusting their pelvis’ on the dance floor. It’s taken years to get over it, only to see our two year old thrusting to the same tune yesterday. While equally as unsettling, I doff my cap to Miss Salt and Miss Peppa - they sure as hell have one toe tapping tune there. The standard didn’t drop once, every song a belter making it far easier to shake your think in such a sober state.

We sadly made a small mistake with the Munchkin’s attire. It being our inaugural trip we didn’t think to pay much attention to what she was wearing. What-a-mistake-a-to-make-a. Many of the kids were dressed up for an afternoon on the town. Fairies, witches, and pirates outfits galore. I even spotted a crocodile too. As the Husband said, the Munchkin looked like the kid who’d had the call last minute.

Much amusement was found watching the dance floor. Small people are just funny, in particular toddlers. In many ways it was no different from the adult clientele on a Saturday night - there were girls squabbling over dancing partners, and boys over the free orange juice (free trade of course), a lot of falling over and the odd tear too. Forward on 16 years and they’ll all be there doing the same thing.

We’re undoubtedly going to become regular fixtures - I honestly didn’t realise there was this much fun to be had on a Sunday afternoon.

With the Munchkin’s rendition of Old MacDonald ringing in my ears, I thought a trip to Battersea Park Zoo most apt.

One of the joys of the place, occurs before you even set foot inside. You can park with ease, and without it costing a fortune – something I’m a big fan of. Once inside, the Munchkin was in seventh heaven, my little Doctor Dolittle insisting on introducing herself to each and every animal that would give her the time of day. This was particularly amusing for me when the Minor bird replied and she jumped out of her skin. She’s now intent on helping all animals find their voice. It could be a long journey I’ve warned her.

Battersea Park Zoo ticks all the boxes. Perfect specimens of child friendly animals coexist with not only a fantastic playground to while away hours in, but also a sweet little café that helped shelter us from the afternoons showers. The staff even managed to find humour in the Munchkins attempted pilfering of a tube of Smarties. A good try, but none the less morally wrong. Rest assured, the goods where returned, if only to be paid for alongside my cuppa.

With much to do, touch and see we’re sure to become regulars.

I honestly feel like I’ve just been mugged by the London Aquarium. The Munchkin suddenly has an obession with all things aquatic. Possibly a young Jacques-Yves Cousteau in the making or maybe just a 2 year old who enjoyed Finding Nemo - who knows what prompted this sudden fondess for all things wet ? So off we trek to the South Bank, mother-in-law in tow to go and find outselves some “Big Sharks”.

Late opening we had to queue outside for 10 minutes while the staff finished their cappuchinos and the fish prepared for their homosapien house guests. It cost a total of £37 for us to get in - praise the lord for free entry for the under 3’s and the mother-in-law’s OAP status, otherwise we might have been on the blower to Carol Vordermann for a quick loan. 40 minutes later we had emerged from our subterainian adventure more than a little underwhelmed. Yes, there were lots of fish. Yes, they were well cared for. Just very little else. Nothing interactive, not buttons to press, only a poor old sting ray to stroke. The only things on offer - face painting and novelty photograph taking, did little to aid a small persons enjoyment of the place only to help make the parental purse a lot lighter.

Maybe the Munchkin was just too young - I’ll give them that, but I honestly felt embarassed that this is one of London’s premier tourist attractions and none too proud of being a Londoner.

Unless they’re seriously into the deep I’d give this one a wide birth if I were you.

Autumn is my favourite season by far. The sparkly lights, the falling leaves and the hot chocolates in the park on Sunday afternoons are just some of the things I look forward to come September 1st. It’s also the sexiest month - it’s cold and a girls gotta keep warm, but the less said about that the better. I’m always keen on a weekend away about this time too. There’s nothing like getting out of the big smoke to see nature do her thing first hand in the country.

Woolley Grange in Wiltshire is a perfect getaway. In order to truly enjoy it you’ll have to have your Munchkin with you (only because if don’t you’ll simply be surrounded by everyone else’s, so you might as well let then get in on the act, this time). We went for a night last October and after a mere 24 hours not only were we all rejuvenated, and all our boxes were ticked.

The great thing about Woolley Grange, and indeed all the hotels under the Luxury Family Hotels chain, is that it really does cater to everyone. There’s a crèche for the Munchkin so, joy of joys, we could actually spending some daylight hours a deux. We even splashed out on an late afternoon bottle of bubbly to celebrate our new found freedom. Following this, a brief (and drunken) spell on the hotel’s trampoline brought much hilarity and a regression to our youth. For a couple of hours it honestly felt like we were 25 again and on the best date ever. Better still, the Munchkin had a whale of a time larging it up at the nursery without the Olds cramping her style.

Following an early supper for small people in the dining room the Munchkin was tucked up in bed by 7.30 and we were ready to enjoy the gourmet meal included in the price of our room. We were even able to leave her in the room as the hotel operates a baby listening service co-ordinated by the receptionist - if there’s so much as a peep out of them you’re alerted by a smartly dressed man who apologises for disturbing your meal. I know this as the couple sat next to us weren’t quite as lucky as us in the Munchkin sleeping stakes.

Following a the fullest English Breakfast I can remember eating for a very long time, and the Munchkin’s pouring of apple juice onto the Restaurant’s carpet, we enjoyed a long walk with the hotels dog, Peanut, before heading back to the city each with a glow in our cheeks.

Back in the mid nineties when life moved at the speed of sound, and when house parties would not only go on all night but end with the collective viewing of the Hollyoaks Omnibus, my loved up friendship circle would frequently meet for Sunday lunch. A lunch that would roll into another coffee, then perhaps a glass of wine, and then someone would inevitably suggest we order a bottle or two. Our venue, various smokey public houses, sometimes as dingey as can be. As long as we were together what did we care ?

As it does, life moved on. We all met new people, and fell in love. While our friendships remained intact, our now gigantic friendship circle prohibited the cosy Sunday lunches we had all come to know and love. Of course, they still existed, just not in the same form.
Last Sunday we met friends for lunch at Ditto Bar & Restaurant. Albeit, not my original line up back in 1997 it was certainly my husbands. All hung-over and ready for a roast, not to mention accompanied by the Munchkin, we were unaware of the magic that was about to happen.

Lead to our table one of the first things that hit us was the lovely relaxed feel of the place. Stylishly set up for service there was an inviting buzz, neither too busy nor too quite. As we walked to our table the Munchkin squealed with joy. Tucked in a separate room, not entirely noticeable she had seen what we were soon to discover, was the playroom. And not just any playroom. Upon closer inspection we found what can only be described as Eden for any small person accompanying their parents to lunch - a wonderfully equipped soft play area full to the brim with toys.
Comfortably settled at our table I can safely say that we had the best Sunday lunch since being parents. The food was exceptional with true Sunday staples, the staff friendly and efficient. Having arrived at 1 pm our feet didn’t set out on the sad trudge home until 4.30 pm. Not only lunch but a day out too.

It’s so rare that a place can cater to such differing needs, but Ditto have managed to do it so wonderfully. Not once while in the restaurant did we feel that we were in a family restaurant and all children were amazingly behaved. The brightlights and squishiness of the soft play room certainly made for one small but nicely tired and subdued dining companion.

This morning I’m over excited. I’ve packed the Munchkin and the Husband off for a Saturday morning swimming session and have just enjoyed my first peaceful cappuccino in over a week. Flying high on my caffeine buzz I now plan to shower and dress at the speed of lighting as I’ll shortly be hauling my ass to V and A to check out their ‘Golden Age of Couture’ exhibition, which opens today.

I am beside myself with anticipation. Christian Dior’s pink satin and sequin shoes are first on my hit list, followed closely by Givenchy’s ‘Les Muguets’ evening dress. As I sit and type I’m practically tachycardic. With pieces from Balenciaga, Pierre Balmain, Norman Hartnell and of course the wonderful Dior, I think I’m in for a treat.

On practically being pushed out of the front door, the Husband begged me to heed his final words - “remember the time your Grace Kelly phase ? That red lipstick made you look like one of those old ladies who smell of lavender, and who’ve completely lost ability to apply any sort of make up over the years. You still sometimes over do that stuff on your cheeks”.

So I’m going to enjoy myself this morning but avoid any retail outlets on the way home.

Today has been a Munchkin free day. Taking advantage of my newly found freedom I took it upon myself to check out the new Autumn / Winter collections with the hope of manhandling some patent leather shoes.

Liberty’s is one of my favourite shops. I long to be able to afford to spend more there (in the sense of both money and time) but for anyone who’s wondered down Regent Street, the style and grace of the place is clear to see. The reason why I’m featuring it here is because I’ve just discovered it’s what fantastic food it does.

Meeting a friend for lunch we settled on Cafe Liberty on the second floor. Before the arrival of Munchkin, and with an abundance of time on my own on my hands, I was a swift sandwich kinda gal. No guessing that that’s all changed. Sometimes it’s truly a treat to spend a day in town on your own (albeit window shopping), meeting a friend for lunch and trying on clothes that you just can’t afford. Uh ! What a treat to shop without the Munchkin pulling at my coat.

Lunch was delicious - truly designed for Ladies that Lunch - of which there were many already seated. There’s a light and airy atmosphere and the menu somehow reflected that, with soups, salads and pasta being predominant features. In all honesty service was a little slow but we didn’t really mind as all we had on our agenda was to catch up and let the day slip away.

After lunch we crept down to the Champagne Bar for a quick Sex in the City moment before my lunch date went back to work and I to the 137 bus.

Bliss.

Let me get something straight. There ain’t anything stylish about Gambado (www.gambado.com). Well, not in the strict sense of the word. Don’t get me wrong I think the place is great, on the right day and at the right time, and their supply of magazines is truly delicious. The truly wonderful thing about the place is that the kids ADORE it. Trust me, it doesn’t end there. After an hour or two of running around, and here’s the best bit, they’re truly exhausted. I kid you not when I tell you that an hour at Gambado will increase the Munchkin’s lunchtime nap by at least half and hour. That’s an extra half an hour to enjoy this months Vogue while catching some Indian summer sunshine. Better still if your Munchkin is past the lunchtime nap stage, that’s an extra half hour to enjoy some fine wine with the company of your choice. Now, THAT’s stylish !

There is an overwhelming sense of chaos as you enter Gambado. I’ve tried many coping mechanisms and believe me the best way to deal with it is simply to just go with it. Avoid peak times (after school or other than first thing at weekends) and think about the weather - the nicer it is outside the nicer it is at Gambado. If it’s raining, forget about it - says she with bitter experience.

Once inside there is a plethora of activities for all to take part in. Mini dodgems, the carousel, a soft play area the size of a small holding (which is three stories high), ball pits, trampolines and internet access for the grown ups. The list is endless.

It’s important to be pedicured prior to your Gambado experience. If your munchkin is under 3 then it’s likely they’ll need you to indulge your inner child and join them in the play frame and there, no shoes are allowed. If I do say so myself, the big slide is particularly fun.

There’s a cafe which serves all the usual staples although meal choices aren’t too healthy. On more than a few occasions I’ve noticed that this is one area that doesn’t cope with the inevitable chaos so well and have heard many a complaint about it. Me ? I steer clear completely hiding some water and provisions in Munchkin’s change bag.

My advice is to treat it as a military operation, Operation Exhaust if you will. You’ll be demob happy before you know it.