I realise I am saying this a little too close to the people at Future Freak, and so we wade deeper into the exhibition. To our right, Lisa Scott-Lee drags her husband past a Dribble Bibs stand. He looks pale and tired. He may have been here some time. Our eyes meet momentarily, and we nod a nod of pained understanding. We will never see each other again, we two men, but already we have exchanged more than we will ever need.

Finally, we make it to the papooses. We stand and stare at the different baby carriers. Take in their different colours. Their different functions. The optional rain covers, sun shades and pillows. There are pamphlets about S-shaped shoulder pads and load-bearing support and three-point adjustable back systems.

We stare blankly.

'Maybe a papoose was setting the bar too high,' I say. 'Maybe we need to build up to this.'

'What's a three-point adjustable back system?' says my wife. 'Are S-shaped shoulder pads good?'

And so slowly, we wander away, like zombies, our eyes glazed over and our confidence sapped. We do not know what to do. I know it and she knows it. We're clueless in a world where everyone else has all the clues.

We leave The Baby Show an hour later. We have bought a blanket and a CD of Radiohead songs re-recorded as lullabies.

I listen to the CD twice in the car on the way home and feel calmer about things.

'We'll get there,' says my wife, as we pull up outside our house. 'Together.'

I give Colin a call. He meets me for a pint, and afterwards, we go for a Nando's.

My wife comes too.

LOVE

There is a story I tell that my wife has heard a thousand times, but the perfect opportunity to tell it has just arisen. It is as if the Gods of Storytelling themselves have somehow manufactured this moment for just this reason, gathering just the right people at just the right time and giving me just the right in.

It's about apple juice.

'Well,' I say, to the people standing around me. I'm already smiling because I know and appreciate how kind the Gods have been today. 'This one time, right, my friend Will got into a scrape involving a bottle of Appletiser ...'

The people around me - four of them - start to smile with anticipation, but I can feel myself losing my wife's attention. No matter. When it comes to anecdotes, there will always be casualties.

'Basically,' I say, 'we were in a hotel just north of Knutsford ...' My smile grows as I think of what's coming.

'And Will, who's very picky about his drinks, was sure he'd-'