Magic of childhood

I spent a very nice few hours with my friend Kath yesterday, and with her daughter Lily who's about 18 months old. I have come to the conclusion that this is a Very Good Age. Mostly because they can't yet ask you incessant questions, but they can giggle at all the hilarious things you do to amuse them. It's positive feedback all the way.

Any regular Plogger will know that I'm not that great with kids. Usually I have no idea what to say to them ("Have you read Ian McEwan's latest?" doesn't normally go down that well). Alternatively, I try too hard to enter their world ("What's your doll called? Jasper? That's a lovely name. Oh, you mustn't pull her round by her hair like that. Yes. OK, I did know she was a doll. I was just trying to... never mind. Stop looking at me so scathingly. Leave me alone.".)

Other recent successes: comparing a much-beloved newborn to a scene out of Carrie, banging a baby's head on the table, and causing a full-scale tantrum when I offered constructive feedback on a (let's face it) off-key version of The Hills Are Alive.

But yesterday was like all my best comedy gigs rolled into one. I developed a brilliant trick of hiding a toy ladybird (not hiding it very well, mind you) and then making it appear from Lily's ear. When I do this with adults, they tend to get bored with it in about twelve seconds. Lily was still finding it hysterically funny (especially when I mixed things up a bit and made it come out of her tummy button) a good half hour later. She laughed. She clapped. She didn't even heckle (apart from one stomach-churning moment when she glimpsed the ladybird between my clasped hands. Luckily she forgot about this about two seconds later).

So I'm announcing my triumphant return to stand-up. New rules: no audience members over the age of two.