We could not have attracted more stares or caused more of a commotion had we been cartwheeling naked. A two-mile, 10-minute jaunt morphed into an attention-grabbing afternoon.
Put simply, we were mobbed. Young mums demanded an on-the-spot demo. Japanese tourists insisted on taking pictures. Improbably, teenage boys gawped and pronounced it "cool".
Dory soon became so blasé at her burgeoning rock star status that she quickly learned five new words: "Taga", "seventeen hundred pounds" and "Dutch".
I have yet to see a more unlikely ice-breaker — even the well-heeled yuppies who stalk Borough Market eschewed their usual aloofness to sprint across and jot down the website address.
One City gent, spotting us gliding past, simply held up a hand, and ran across four lanes of traffic just to stand in front of us as if he'd glimpsed the second coming.
I got used to being asked — always the first question — "How much?". "It's not mine," I told one mum who shot out of her semi as though her hair was on fire. "I'm only borrowing it."
"Seventeen hundred quid?" she parroted back. "I've got a mate who spent close to that on a Bugaboo."
And she has a point. The simple truth is that if you're a parent, you're going to want one. Desperately.