She is Sensational

One is a half irish, half Sri Lankan honorary antipodean man with, hitherto, as much interest in babies as Gideon Osborne has in paying his taxes fully. The other is a Lebanese banker - who was so excited by meeting Nancy he actually destroyed a stool. The briefest of direct exposures to Bertrand has left them becharmed and beguiled by her truffling glory. And lead to this.

Whilst I question whether she should be on television - although Newsnight would doubtless be strengthened if Paxman used her as paperweight to adorn his desk - there is little doubt she is indeed sensational. Whilst in a shop in Muswell Hill over the weekend a nurse (who was about to possibly lose her job but was debating the £600 or £800 futon sofa bed suggesting there might have been a second potentially more sizeable income) told us we had a very beautiful baby as we malingered in the shop apropos of nothing at all which was rather elating. That said she somewhat sullied her impeccable Bertrand credentials by following up with "But wait until he becomes a teenager, then he'll be a real bugger." Oh. Wrong way Bonzo.

In another one of those existentially draining moments (more on those later), Bertie has started with her childminder who is known to her charges as Yaya and after a slightly traumatic start (read total Jihad) seems to be settling in well. Huzzah Huzzam. And what of the burn? Well, we continue our weekly pilgrimage to Essex and the healing process continues at pace - the dressing is down to a rather grand elastoplast smeared with special medical muck and then protected by a full length stocking to stop her little party chippolatas from getting that plaster off and trying to eat it. 

Happily, this reduced dressing has allowed the return of the always delightful baby bath. And it has returned in some style. I always thought that babies pooing in the bath was an urban legend - like the Candy Man or Michael Howard being a vampire - but it is not. It can actually happen. And it did. And it has. To us, dear readers. According to she who will not be named I did not shower myself in glory when it was discovered that Bertie was about to rather sully bath time. Apparently, laughing and wondering whether I should get the camera is not the best response mid movement. Thankfully, with my trademark alacrity a widescale ecological disaster was avoided. Now we can all look back and laugh - like the end of an episode of thundercats.

And now for more of those aforementioned draining moments. Maddy and I were, this very morn, returning from Essex and on the wireless Radio 4 had a feature on the Baron Gould of Brookwood who succumbed last year to oesophageal cancer but had found clarity after he had accepted death. Now regardless of what you think of clarifying power of impending death - the following extract (running to about 50 words) should not bring a battle hardened (prep and private school) 29 year old man (okay granted I did once cry whilst watching Turner and Hooch but that dog was an all american hero) to the edge of an emotional precipice within seconds. Similarly, whilst watching the City of Life and Death (a film about the rape of Nanjing) Maddy and I all but collapsed. I mean it's ridiculous. If you are about to become a parent and you have some harrowing films on your must watch list - get them out the way now - as soon as the bubbachop spurts forth it will become too much. Addled by Bertie. Which is a wonderful addling but still - I'm a wreck of a man. From now on I'm only watching films which are U or PG. Maybe 12. But I fear 12a might be too much.

Enjoy.

Eyes on the Prize.

Bertie, I'm concerned your head is getting a little bit too big.

Cueball and Sunhat.

Morning Stand.

I don't get out of bed for less then $10,000.

Fig.