Travelling light?

The travel cot. A misnomer of the most epic proportions if ever there was one. ‘The so-fucking-heavy-your-arm-might snap-off-at-the-elbow cot’ would be more accurate. I can barely travel across the bedroom with it let alone on holiday, it is so bloody heavy and cumbersome. We are away for a few days and it has taken three months to pluck up the courage to sleep anywhere other than at home, due to the ridiculous load of baby shit you are forced to take with you. Three nights away equates to a car boot full of paraphernalia, including the aforementioned travel cot that takes up a disproportionate amount of space in relation to the baby it is meant to house, and so footwells and back shelves are called into action as overflow storage. A trip away takes a week to plan and half a day to pack for. I am the first to admit that when it comes to organisation and logistics, I can err a tad on the side of over-zealousness. Okay, I admit, it, I am obsessive about making lists and forward planning. But even I was getting a little narked at having to create revise three of the ‘stuff to pack’ list just because there was just so much sodding crap to remember.

But I digress. Back to the travel cot. Which fucking morons designed this thing? Granted, it does fulfil half its function. It does an okay job as a cot. But then again, so would a large cardboard box. But the travel bit? I am surprised Trading Standards haven’t slapped a law suit on them for a hideous breach of trading standards. Or at least just slapped them.

Yet its resemblance to a barrow load of breeze blocks in the weight department is not the only thing that is fundamentally flawed about this sleeping apparatus. It makes me wonder what the bloody hell the designers were thinking. 

“Okay Brian, new brief in. For a travel cot.”

“A what?”

“Travel cot. For babies. You know, those horrible small things that shit a lot.”

“Oh, right.”

“Look, I know we’d both rather be designing Ferraris, but…”

“I’d rather be picking my arse than designing a travel cot.”

“Listen, you can do both, it’s not fucking rocket science. We’ll be done by lunch.”

“That’s ten minutes from now.”

“Precisely. So. A cot. That travels. Ideas?”

“I don’t think babies should be allowed out the house until they are two.”

“Jesus, it’s gonna be a late lunch at this rate. C’mon. Ideas.”

“Okay, let’s start with a big metal frame.”

“Good, it must be stable. I like your thinking.”

“Metal will make it so fucking heavy it might persuade parents to stay at home.”

“Fine, whatever. Metal it is. Height. About like this?”

“Seventy five centimetres, I reckon. Just high enough…”

“To stop toddlers climbing out?”

“…to make the average height mum have to drop the baby the last two inches as she can’t reach the mattress.”

“Fine, I’m too hungry to argue. What about the collapsing mechanism.”

“Can we make it collapse in the middle of the night?”

“No.”

“Christ, you’re so fucking picky. Pass the pen… something like this… ”

“Blimey, that looks almost impossible to work out unless you read the instructions.”

“Exactly. It passes the ‘does it make grown men weep’ test with flying colours. We can print the instructions on the bottom of the mattress, no fucker is ever going to read them. Well, not until they have spent an hour trying to erect the bloody thing by pushing the base flat first.”

“But your mechanism works on the opposite principle.”

“Exactly.”

“Right. Fabric sides?”

“Plastic netting, I reckon. Get that stuff that sounds really bloody irritating when the kid scrapes his nails down it. They’ll love that at three in the morning.”

“Anything else?”

“Make the mattress really hard. It’s only what they deserve.”

“Hmmm. It seems you have designed something more akin to a mobile torture chamber than a travel cot.”

“Excellent. My work here is done. Let’s go get some chips.”

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