Bertie has gone Nuclear.

August 20, 2012

Bertie has gone Nuclear.

Beano has gone mental. Once content to bottom shuffle she has now demonstrated the reckless abilities of jihadi mountain goat. The eight stairs which once acted as a natural brake to her shuffling have been scaled for the first time this very morn, with an alacrity which stunned her father into a heady silence. Any open door within her vision is seen as a target no matter where they lead - be it truffling into the wilderness of a Dorset garden (her safety assured by the careful oversight of her own personal Rear Admiral and Father - only imperiled when accidentally shunted face first into a muddy puddle) or onto a norf Londin balcony. She is fearless. If she can find a chink of light she will charge it without thought for her own safety. It is rather wonderful to see a bean so head strong although it is tempered by the fact that once she pulls herself up to her feet she will only return to her rump posterior with a delicacy that borders on the absurd. Especially when you consider that she repeatedly attempts to fling herself from tables without a second thought. Oh yes. That's right. She also pulls herself up. It is most disconcerting. You are at the stove chatting cack to her and turn to see her aloft on her two Rubenesque legs. It's highly disconcerting. Baby Mungo has been eaten by Little Beano.

Luckily for you, you are also joyously sweet. Apart from when you are engaged in one of your customary death stares. But these diminish in number as you are too busy laughing at your very own internal monologue that reduces you to laughter at random junctures. What are you chortling about? Surely you are not old enough to appreciate the hilarity of Andy Carroll or Boris Johnson but maybe not Michael Gove? Regardless, her laughter from wherever it stems is enough to reduce even the hardiest of soul to a quivering sausage.

Moreover, whilst her vocabulary is expanding in a haphazard manner - her ability to identify dogs is unparalleled. Out goes the index finger and then it comes - like a Gregorian chant "Dog, Dog, Dog, Dog" only really stopping when said canine is out of sight. Moreover, she can identify a book sometimes and most winged beasts are decried as ducks. Richard Attenborough she is not, but at least she doesn't hold silly views about global population control. At least I think she doesn't. To be honest it is hard to tell. She is pretty flighty at the moment.