You know you're a London mum when:
1) You travel on a bus with lettuce leaves in your bra.
True story. Having milk flow issues in one of my milk jugs.
God forbid they fall out. So am sitting tight.
2) You force your baby buggy into the tiniest of crevices/shop doors/aisles/buses
It's wedged between something more often than not.
3) You call it a baby buggy.
No prams here, guv.
4) You spend at least one portion of your summer's day wandering on some sort of green space.
The Common knows me and my buggy well. I go there everyday, to the point where the geo-location on my phone thinks its 'work' and keeps on wanting to update my settings.
5) You start looking at whether your child can get Received Pronunciation elocution lessons when he is old enough to talk.
True story part deux. I would like Sebastian to speak BBC English. Call it posh, call it whatever you like, but he might even thank me one day.
(The Queen speaks Heightened RP, I just want him not to talk in any sort of London accent. At all. Cockney, Estuary or other. Cannot stand it. Yes I'm a snob.)
Off on a night out for tapas in Maida Vale with two great friends of mine.
Again, hope the old boobies don't explode.