Talk the Talk (Adventures of L-PLate Gran)

Little G has started speaking in scribble. You must be mad and I are not sure whether this is a sign of great intelligence, or just a crafty method of ignoring us. I suspect it is her way of defying the numerous 'no's' and prohibitions that now arrive in her life on a daily basis.

She's sticking up the toddler two-fingers to the silly adults that refuse to let her go out in the freezing cold clad just in her vest, bunny slippers and pink sparkly ballet skirt. Or demand she has a nap when she doesn't want one.

'Gdnoty blurns fnadzin imbana,' she says, staring me in the face while making extravagant waving movements with both hands.

'Do you want a banana?' I ask.

She shakes her head.

'Blnrr rnhhststs abcdondly,' she says, giving me a palms-up.

I frown, shake my head. She is delighted. The one-sided conversation continues with Little G chatting away in fluent rubbish, and me tailing along verbally in her wake, feeling inadequate. Role reversal, that's what it's all about.

Mind you, thinking about the illogical stuff I catch myself saying to her, I can see why she has decided to launch a verbal counter attack.

'Unless you put your socks on, there won't be any ice cream after lunch,' I say.

'Stop wasting that fruit. Apples don't grow on trees,' I say.

'Don't pull Grandma's hands or they'll fall off,' I say.

See what I mean? Multiply that by whatever nuttiness You must be mad comes out with when I'm not minding Little G, and you can quite understand why, it's all gdnffgry imbdilly drncklow ... can't you?


To be continued ...   ....