Until You must be mad entrusted Little G into my unreliable care, I had forgotten how funny small children could be. The baby is now 19 months old and is developing her own sense of humour. I think she could easily do stand up - though in her case it would currently have to be sit-down.
Much of the humour comes from seeing what makes me laugh and then repeating it - on the basis that if it made me laugh the first time, then the same must be true for the second, third, fourth and beyond times. OK, maybe not, but it is the altruistic desire to amuse that counts.
And she doesn't get a repeat fee
One of the things Little G finds very amusing comes into the category of Winding up Grandma. 'Yellow spoon,' she says, handing me the blue spoon. 'No, that's blue,' I say. 'YELLOW spoon,' she chortles. I correct her. 'Yellow spoon!' she crows, eyeing me devilishly.
Much mirth is also derived from shouting obscure words 'Ant!' she yells at the top of her voice as we are making our way to the bus stop. She then collapses into howls of laughter. 'Ant?' I repeated, slightly puzzled. 'Ant!' she shouted triumphantly. She can keep this up for ages, if I unwittingly play along
I am reminded, as I am regularly bested by a small cherubic infant with a left-field sense of the absurd that rivals Kafka, that all brilliant comedians and trenchant observers of the human condition must start somewhere. And when in the fullness of time Little G makes her debut at the Edinburgh Fringe, I will be sitting in the front row of the audience, bursting with pride. I may even shout 'Ant!' every now and then.
Just for old times' sake.
To be continued ... .....