And if I’d worried that my fellow Londoners would be dismissive of a new mother with a pushchair, I’ve been proved totally wrong. I’ve never had so many warm conversations or shared so many knowing words with fellow parents on the bus. Not once have I struggled to lug the pram up the steps at a Tube station by myself — teenage boys seem particularly keen to help. Probably they were raised in London, too: bred with a sense of independence and self-awareness that, although not guaranteed, is the hallmark of an urban upbringing. There’s a reason that, aged 41, I still don’t know how to drive: London children don’t spend their lives being ferried about in cars, but are on foot, seeing the world around them and connecting with other people (when not on their phones).
