A modest proposal

I've borrowed this post's title from Jonathan Swift's essay, in which he satirically suggests that the Irish cope with food shortages by eating their babies. Like Swift, I shall be addressing the topic of society's youngest members. While I hope my thoughts will not be devoid of humor, I am however quite seriously calling for a public debate on the behavior of middle class progeny in public spaces.

Full disclosure: I do not have children. I do not want children. That said, this is not part of some rampant child-hating campaign; I have a few friends with children and I expect that number to increase with time. If having kids makes them happy and fulfilled - and it obviously does - then I'm pleased for them. The bone I wish to pick here is not about kids or parenting per se, but rather the way in which public spaces are used and shared by people with and without children. Since moving back to the UK last autumn, I've become increasingly aware of the encroachment of children, socially and spatially, on neutral and adult territory. The problem is significantly more pronounced in my new, allegedly-swanky North London hood than in my previous stomping ground of Shepherds Bush. This is not a parents v. childless adults debate - I know most people don't allow their children to behave like this and I've seen many a parent (including my own mother) outraged at the offences detailed below. Still, there are bad (or just clueless) apples in every bunch and we could clearly benefit from some guidelines to help us coexist peacefully. Accordingly, I (modestly) propose the following:

1. When in Rome: Observe the ambience of the space you're in and emulate. This works both ways: just as one shouldn't settle in with a six-pack of cider and a pack of fags at the local playground, so too should unruly toddlers steer clear of wine bars. Different venues offer different experiences. No single patron has the right to continuously disrupt the specific ambience of particular place and proprietors should be unafraid to defend their customers' rights to the experience they have chosen and are paying for.

2. No scooters on city sidewalks (or in shops): Last weekend I watched a father of twin toddlers, both with scooters. In less than 2 minutes, one of the girls fell over and smacked her head on the pavement whilst the other lost control of her scooter which rolled into the path of a (mercifully slow-moving) car. London is blessed with parks, people. Use them.

3. No kids in pubs/bars. I am told this used to go without saying in the UK, but alas that's no longer the case. Last December, I was enjoying a late Sunday afternoon drink with friends near Westbourne Grove. A bugaboo-toting couple arrived (is the bugaboo the BMW of prams?) and quickly became indignant when the publican turned them away rather than permit them to block a) the fire exit or b) the entrance to the pub's dining room. Other friends have related stories of hipster dads passing infants from mate to mate down the pub, or groups of friends with young kids who've set up impromptu playpens on pub floors, which other patrons must then navigate whilst attempting to not inadvertently baptise someone's offspring with a pint of Staropramen. Gross.

Why should these suggestions be seriously considered? Health and Safety, innit! Before branding me a heartless, childless cynic, think about the extent to which these suggestions benefit all. I don't want to drop my drink on your child, nor do I want to trip over them (or their infernal scooter). The kids marauding through my local Waitrose on bikes and scooters last week were a danger to themselves and others. Picture this chain reaction: child on scooter careens into unsteady pensioner, who subsequently grabs at shelves to steady themselves, as a result of which a can of marinara cracks open on little Tarquin's head. Meanwhile, granny slips on the pasta sauce and cracks a hip. I defy anyone to consider this a positive outcome for any concerned. Unfortunately this kind of behavior is so rampant in Crouch End that such an accident feels inevitable.

Right, off to look at flats in Hoxton now.