King of the car park

One of the greatest perks of being a parent to small children is the parking spaces. Yes, yes, the hugs, first steps, re-reading Thomas the Tank Engine and feeling as funny as Robin Williams just by saying ‘peekaboo’. But oh my, the parking spaces.

The first time there is almost a frisson of illegality about the feelings it elicits. Such is the sense of deep joy as you drive past the massed ranks of hideously narrow bays, that you can’t believe you won’t be turned away when you get to parent and child parking nirvana. Over yonder is the less crowded corner you used to seek out. Those unpopular spaces where a door ding from a careless or simply uncaring Corolla curmudgeon was less likely.

The spots where an unattended trolley wandering into your bumper like a shambling drunk wasn’t so much of a hazard. But they’re not for you now. The need for Isofix means you’re driving towards hallowed ground. As the front of the store gets closer, you feel like the friend of a minor VIP on a red carpet; fantastic access and no-one’s looking.