Small children and social glue

Laughter, they say, is social glue. (Another example might be alcohol, but this is false glue: incredibly sticky for one evening, come unstuck by the following morning).

But the strongest social glue I have found is small children.

From NCT group, to playgroup to school gate, parents bond closely over discussion of the minutae of their children's lives. How can you fail to become friends with a group of people you are required to discuss the merits of perineal massage massage with? I'm still close friends with some of our group, and they provided massive, essential support during the wobbly days and weeks of early parenthood.

But it's not just the making of friends I'm talking about. It's passing comments with complete strangers. It's making contact with people in ways I never did before children.

This week, I had to go to the laundrette (long story, rates a 9 on the irritation and stress scale). It's not a regular haunt, and I was not at all sure what I was meant to do. It all looked a bit complicated. Did I need one giant machine and two medium? Or two giant? Where does the powder go? Which setting do I need? How long will it take? I really wanted someone to help. Actually I wanted to someone to do it all for me - I could have gone down the service wash route, but I did want to get some change out of a £20.

Sadly, the woman running this laundry outfit was sour-faced and surly, not unlike a large bull in appearance, and about as keen to help me as I was to be there in the first place. I tried though. I smiled, made small talk, joked about the amount of laundry that could accumulate in three days. Nothing. Not the merest whisper of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Not until, that is, I mentioned the two Small People. Ahhh, that did it. The maternal instinct seemed to kick in, and she was almost happy to engage in a brief but friendly exchange about the trials of potty training with a broken washing machine. She showed me what to do. She even smiled.

This is just an example. But everywhere we go, if the children are there, kindly folk grin, wave and make sweet comments about them. And if they're not there, talking about them always opens up common ground easily.

On the bus today, a complete stranger gave my little boy 50p because he was wearing his birthday badge (he turned 5 yesterday) and, I suppose, because he has a sweet face that embodies small boy innocence and hope. It is incredibly gratifying, and fills me with a sense that there is goodness in the world.