Toby demonstrated to us yesterday evening that he can now crawl into the kitchen, stand up in front of the oven, turn a few knobs, and then hold down the gas ignition button. I think he's attracted by the pleasant clicking sound it makes. And the inevitable ka-boom which will no doubt follow shortly afterwards as we're all blown to kingdom come. The thing is, despite knowing that he now has the ability to kill us all at will, I couldn't help feeling proud of his achievement... as he repeated it six times within five minutes. He's progressing nicely. Although we might have to start locking the kitchen door. I'd chain him to the kitchen sink, but that's where I keep Lisa.

As it happens, however, Toby's not the only one displaying prodigious skills at the moment. Amelie's also on fire. Although her talents lie far away from the arena of pyromania, and more towards the field of music. When she finished at nursery the week before last, they sent her home with a note. This note, to be exact...

Trained musicians might just spot the subtle flaw in that notation. Namely that it looks less like a couple of beamed quavers and more like Papa Smurf's legs.

But despite being a little bit backwards, it clearly inspired Amelie on to greatness. A week later, she was sitting at my parents' piano and improvising modern day musical masterpieces. She calls them 'Songs About Life'. Although, as Mr Spock might have said, it's not life as we know it...


Toby's obviously a big fan, but he likes the sound of a hairdryer, so that's not saying much. And my Mum's contractually obliged to clap. But nevertheless, Amelie's combining practical life coaching with advanced keyboard wizardry and slightly monotone singing in a way we've rarely seen since Howard Jones.

Admittedly, the first one's not so much 'Days' as days and confused, but the second one offers some sound advice on the best course of action to take in the face of a natural disaster. I think it was inspired by The Great Flood of 2013. And it's a very British plan. You've got water coming through the ceiling and a bucket leaking all over the floor, but when guests turn up unexpectedly, you just smile and usher them into another room. It's the ostrich approach to crisis management. She's clearly learnt a lot from her father.