I was leaving the bathroom of a busy cafe, waving my watery hands in the air rather than pausing to insert them into the dryer, when I brushed past her. Actually, knocked into her, elbowed her, buffeted by her, are probably more accurate descriptions of what took place. She was standing to the side of the toilet doorway, the generic white plastic change table extended from the wall, wrestling a tiny, red, mid-air-bicycle-pumping footed newborn out of one nappy and into another. Basically she was trying to dress a young wild bear.