The stroller made her do it.

Having entrapped her poor unsuspecting child, the petulant pram forced the mother onto the bus and into an argument with the driver.

The driver refused to move unless the stroller was folded.

Rather than try to fold it, she decided to take to filming instead. Then posting. Then ranting.

I don't blame the parents. Nor the TOTs - tykes-on-thrones.

It's the sadistic strollers that are hellbent on pushing their agenda on greaseless wheels. Like its cousin, the supermarket trolley, strollers go where they want.

Up escalators, into crowded buses and trains, and through crowds.

Their minders, often parents, are losing the battle in the fight to stake control.

Strollers insist on forcibly embracing children with their five point belts and filling the minders' head with a false of security.

Yes, that paper-thin washable fabric will protect the child like only Kevlar can.

You must have seen them in crowded malls insisting on being carried - strollers, not children.

They force parents to tip the front wheels up on escalators, leaving the back wheels to teeter precariously on a step not quite wide enough.

And the spawn and their minders are often dragged along in the death-defying act.

Surely juggling baby and stroller doesn't have to be literal, but these maniacal movers are in cahoots with the devil stairs.

Evil escalators, not content with chew- ing up children's feet encased in careless buaya slip-ons, now want TOTs too.

And yes I know, sometimes these conniving carts boot out the baby in favour of shopping because only expensive things belong in its cold plastic embrace.

It will take Chanel, not Chantel who, at five months old, should be walking.

Parents, you have my sympathy.

I know it's not your fault when you are forced by the spoilt strollers to ram through busy Bugis Junction.

These pampered prams insist, having been purchased for what would get you a home in some countries, to be displayed like hedonist haulers.

Some demand to be shoved past unsuspecting childless people who swear they will stay barren after the thin skin on their heel is sheared off.

When I turn back, irritated, believe me I am angry with the thick-skinned stroller, not you.

Certainly I'm not mad with your chubby five-year-old who - having had his fill of greasy fast food - sits in his Roman litter like a sumo wrestler stuck in a toilet seat.

It is the chariot with the sense of entitlement, not you.

I have three boys and when they were babies, I displayed them in carriers that hurt my back but also helped me become a chick-magnet.

It just didn't make sense to take that stroller out into the crowds.

But then again, I'm not expecting strollers to have common sense.

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