Last week I was in the lounge with Izzy when John went upstairs. She looked towards the door he'd gone out of and repeatedly shouted "DA! DA! DA!" for a minute or so. She then looked at me on the other side of the room, frowned, and said "where Da?" So I explained that he'd gone upstairs, and she stopped shouting
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Apparently my father was in desperate despair over my lack of small child coordination and inability to do anything with even the simplest building blocks - but got over it, when, in Scotland at about 20 months, my grandmother told me to "go to grandad" and I turned round and said "no, grandad in Kendal" - her husband was grandpa, not grandad... and I was well aware we were nowhere near Kendal!
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Nathan, the Toxic Pixie
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