We have one of those side-by-side double prams that fits through an average doorway but the price you pay is supermarket-trolley style wheels that aren't fit for any surface but smoooooth shopping malls.
Chris was pushing both kids in said pram along a too-narrow footpath, huffing and puffing (fairly theatrically I would imagine, in the way men do when they want to emphasise the effort they're going to, but I wasn't there) as he tried to negotiate the stones, cracks in the pavement, etc.
"What's wrong Dadda?," Alex asked, and, as if to show his proficiency in using new words in their correct context, suggested, "Is it the bloody stones?"
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