April crafts

I did start another knitting project – a jumper for Michael – but then the weather suddenly turned hot. This meant I could hang washing out on the line again, and that meant it was time to return to a half-finished project from last year.

I had an old pillowcase that was falling apart, so I decided to re-sew it into a kind of Tetrapak shape, and insert a wooden clothes-hanger to make a peg-bag. It turned out OK, although I hadn’t accounted for the way the weight of the pegs drags the top forward, so I may need to add a collar around the clothes-hanger at some point.

Here is the bag hanging on the line. The original opening of the pillowcase is at the front, half sewn closed, with the top half remaining open to access the pegs. Along one side of the pillowcase, the seam had completely come apart, so I brought the two ends together to create a new seam, running perpendicular to the case’s opening. Here are my feeble diagrams attempting to demonstrate this:

You can see that the lower corner of the case’s original opening is at the bottom front of the peg-bag. I took the equivalent corner on the reverse side and lifted it to the top of the peg-bag to reduce the amount of space in the bag and encourage pegs towards the front.

It was then just a case of popping the coat-hanger up through the middle and hanging it on the line. It was all a bit of a hasty job, with no proper finishing or anything, so I imagine there will be repairs to do in the future! But for now, I have a pretty place to keep my pegs that means I don’t have to keep stooping down while hanging out washing.

Does Pink Stink?

The other day, I read this article with some interest, as it’s a topic my mum friends and I have discussed several times recently.

The Pink Stinks campaign raises issue with gender stereotyping in the marketing of toys, particularly with the use of blue and pink colour coding. If my friend Donna were writing this, I’m sure she’d want to say that pink doesn’t stink! All colours are good, for girls or boys. But it isn’t pink that’s the problem per se; rather, the social codification it represents.

Gender division isn’t always bad. It’s healthy when it recognises genuine differences. For example, special legal protection for pregnancy and breastfeeding, division in sporting contests, and so on. But gender division that dictates social roles is a problem, especially when it’s so insidious and pervasive that, at times, we struggle to see it at all because we’re so immersed in it. In the past, struggling to articulate exactly why I have a problem with the whole ‘pink for girls’ thing, I’ve received answers that are usually along the lines of, “But they like it!” Or, “But it’s fun! What’s the harm?” So here’s a brief attempt to answer that question and explain the disquiet I – and others – feel about colour coding in the marketing of children’s products.

The most obvious issue is the one initially identified by the Pink Stinks campaign. Gender stereotyping in what constitutes a girls’ or a boys’ toy is reinforced by using a colour signal to tell children which one they’re expected to play with. Construction, action and experimental toys are usually coded blue, while nurturing, roleplaying and arty toys are usually coded pink. Sometimes the choice is between ‘unisex’ colours or an alternative pink version. Apparently, girls can’t manage science and technology unless it’s dressed up for them to make it accessible or allowable. The prime example of this would have to be the pink globe sold by the Early Learning Centre. Because obviously a girl can’t be interested in something that looks like the real world, it has to be feminised for her. She should be focussing on her miniature world of domesticity and beauty!

The corollary to this is that boys can only have functional, utilitarian stuff. No beauty for men! Boys can have castles, but only girls can have fairy castles. Boys can have Lego, but only girls can make friendship bracelets, window decorations and so on. Beauty and whimsy are strictly for girls; creativity and imagination for boys are limited to what they can do with bricks or musical instruments. (Which, again, are usually presented with a separate pink option for girls.)

In toy shops today, many boys’ toys are variations on the theme of fighting, while many girls’ toys are variations on the theme of nurture. (I know, what is this, the 1950s? I thought we’d had the feminist revolution!) “But it’s what they like”, isn’t it? Well, yes, if that’s what you teach them they should like. Little girls start conforming to the pink rule once they get to nursery or school (or an older sibling does) and discover that this is how to fit in with their peers.

Inherent differences between the sexes are barely there in infants. As much as we may read about the differences between male and female brains, their abilities almost entirely overlap, making ‘significant’ differences of interest only at the ends of the spectrum – during childhood, at any rate. By adolescence, marked differences may appear, but mostly because of conditioned differences rather than innately different neurology. (For further reading on this subject, I recommend ‘Pink Brain, Blue Brain’ by Lise Eliot, which examines the body of research that now exists on this topic.)

Children are very interested in learning how they are expected to behave, what ‘people like us’ do, how to fit in.  Whether consciously or not, they are taking on board available information all the time about the codes of behaviour in the society they live in, teaching them what it means to be human in our context. If we teach them that science and technology are only for men, then we are missing out on the insight and work that women could bring to these fields (unless specially empinkened havens are created for them). If we teach them that nurturing is for women only, then surely we are creating a problem for our whole society. How many women have you heard complaining about the unequal contribution to home life that their partners make? How many of those men didn’t get the same chances the women did to roleplay and experiment, to copy their mothers as well as their fathers? How many had their gentler instincts quashed in favour of aggression, repression of emotions, conformity to the macho ideal? Obviously this will not be the case for everyone, but the point is that gender stereotyping in childhood easily leads to stereotyped behaviour in adulthood. Of course men and women can be different from their assumed traditional roles, but this coding is encouraging them into those roles from the beginning

All colours should be for everybody. Purple seems to be becoming a ‘girl’ colour now, along with pink, which was once a boys’ colour. Other colours are supposedly ‘unisex’, which means that girls can actually have any colour – though pink is encouraged – while boys should have any colour BUT pink. But why should it be a matter of shame for a boy to be like a girl? The rule of avoiding pink for boys carries the subtext that a boy who displays supposedly feminine traits is an aberration. (For girls, it’s less of a taboo to use other colours.)

Meanwhile, having unisex versus girls’ options serves both to make women special and to subjugate them. The idea being sold seems to be that boys are just normal (read: active, aggressive, non-literary, tech-minded) but girls are to be set apart. Beauty, fragility and domesticity are the associated qualities. The new focus of the Pink Stinks campaign is the increased marketing of makeup for young girls, and the pressure to conform to standards of physical appearance. Boys, by contrast, are often encouraged to adopt a dull appearance, with brown and blue clothes in utilitarian shapes, topped by a short haircut. Girls are to wear bright colours, frills and ornaments, long hair with decoration – and, now, makeup.

The Pink Stinks ladies feel that, while everyone suffers as a result of this social coding, girls get the worst of it, because of the pressure to look ‘beautiful’ and the restriction into a domestic role. I’m not sure about this. Boys are also under pressure to look a certain way and not to stand out, and to meet standards of athletic achievement. There is also an assumption that the sphere of the home equates to a lack of choice, while the world of work equates to choice, freedom and self-expression. But boys are not better off being pushed into a life path that takes them out of the home. Where is their chance to focus on nurture and family, the opportunity for creativity and self-development that being at home brings? Why is it any better for someone to be forced into one than the other? I know plenty of working women who wish that they didn’t live in a time when they are expected to go out to work. I imagine the same is true for many men.

I don’t consider myself a feminist (chiefly because I have a quibble with the name – I am in favour of equality, not the promotion of one group over the other), but I can see that the ideas being marketed to our children are not healthy. You don’t have to be any kind of ‘ist’ to see that a rigid social code is stifling to many people, whether it’s gender inequality, caste inequality, ethnic inequality or whatever.

These are just my thoughts on the matter. There are bound to be examples that contradict what I’ve said here, as well as the many that illustrate my points beautifully, especially as the campaign obtains a response from retailers. Perhaps you have something to add or an alternative take on things to offer for consideration. Do you think ‘Pink Stinks’?

March crafts

It was my older sister’s birthday this month. I had some nice space-dyed wool, which I decided to use to make a hat. (Space-dyed doesn’t mean it was dyed in space, it means it’s dyed different colours at regular intervals along the yarn, so that it creates automatic stripes as you knit.) I knitted a pixie hat, which came up a bit smaller than I intended! Luckily it still fit, though it won’t keep Rosie’s ears warm!

I screwed up the seaming, so the middle stripes don’t meet properly, but I managed to get the other ones together OK. For April, I am embarking on some sewing instead, so maybe I’ll be able to improve these skills!

Rondeau

After Ember asked to see one of my old poems, in which I had a go at the rondeau redoublé form, I felt inspired to have a crack at a form I’d not tried before. I’d had the first line of this poem in mind for some while, and, after some deliberation, I decided a rondeau (the plain kind) might be the best fit. This is the first unpolished attempt. Apologies for the crazy spacing, I’m still getting used to WordPress and haven’t yet figured out how to change the line height defaults! [Sorted! - Ed.]

You can read about the rondeau form here. I encourage you to have a go at writing a poem with a formal structure yourself. I find it a lot of fun. There are various forms described and discussed on the poets.org site, as a starting point. Don’t worry about writing a masterpiece, just have a go, and share it if you feel brave enough!

Rondeau

My English soul takes refuge in the rain,
That drowns all sound till only thoughts remain.
The world, now dampened, takes on dimmer hue
Of which my weary eyes take brighter view
As all is cloaked in stillness once again.

A soft caress or sometimes stinging pain
From living water, dancing to the drain,
Is like an altar bell whose voice renews
My English soul.

Then, quiet as it came, fades the refrain
As grey skies heave a sigh. They leave their plain
And modest garments, donning fancy blue
And lacy white, as though to question who
Could love the darkling clouds whose tears yet stain
My English soul.

(This poem is copyright Grace Garner. Please contact me for permission if you wish to share it in any way other than a direct link to this blog. Thanks!)

Craftwork

A new year, a new attempt to keep my blog up to date… Except it’s actually March already, even though I’ve been planning this post since January. Oh well.

I did make New Year’s Resolutions this January, for the first time ever. One of them was to get my filing system sorted out (not yet achieved) and the other was to do more crafts, particularly knitting and sewing. I am aiming to produce one item every month this year. Here is January’s, my first complete knitted project:

I was going to sew some tassels on it and give it away, but Michael has actually been using it. He also nabbed February’s project as soon as it was finished:

But the hat was actually meant for Clay. I made up the pattern as I went along, and I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.

The reason for deciding to do one piece a month was that I thought then I could post about them on here and that would help me to maintain my blog regularly, because I know I’ll want to show off the finished pieces. And it will also help me overcome the desire to make every blog entry a piece of earth-shattering brilliance. The trouble with perfectionism is that it doesn’t half stop you from getting stuff done!

What’s wrong with Harry Potter

This is an opinion piece. You are perfectly free to disagree and to add your comments. This rant has been a long time coming, though, so I do hope you’ll read to the end!

I was not an early reader of Harry Potter. Three books had already been published by the time I started. Little did I know that the series would go steadily downhill as JK Rowling’s editors appeared to stop doing their job and started whacking the books out the door quicker than you can say Golden Snitch.

Which is not to say that I didn’t enjoy them. I loved Harry Potter. I read fan fiction, argued over film casting choices, bought quizzes and board games, spent time guessing how the series would end, the works. And that last is where the problem lies for me.

Harry Potter is not high literature. It is fiction in the Romantic tradition, aimed at young readers, falling squarely into the fantasy adventure genre, with many of the associated conceits and clichés, as well as a good whack of mystery. It is ripping yarns set in a whimsical and delightful world. And, quite obviously from any reading and confirmed by JKR herself, it is a morality tale – good overcoming evil; the “choice between what is right and what is easy”; the little person against the big guns; truth against prejudice, lies and wilful ignorance, and so on. The strengths in JK Rowling’s writing include her ear for realistic, funny dialogue, the colourful details that flesh out her world and her incisive satire. And if you’re now tempted to go and read the series for the first time, be warned: from here on, there are SPOILERS! If you haven’t read the books and don’t intend to, I’m afraid I am assuming a familiarity with them that you may not have. But I’m sure you’ll cope.

Until Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book Seven), I would have appended to that list her development of theme. But no. There were a lot of things wrong with Book Seven, but I could have forgiven all of them if not for the grand betrayal she inflicts on the reader in the climax of the book.

First, then, the things that were problematic but which I could have shaken off for the sake of the series as a whole:

The pacing. Oh God, the pacing. Where was this book’s editor? Over half the book is spent with Harry, Ron and Hermione traipsing round the gloomy British countryside, sitting in a tent and staring at each other, like some dreadful absurdist play. I have not read the book since it came out, so forgive me if I have the details incorrect here, but I believe they have six Horcruxes to find and destroy, and it takes them over half the book to do the first two. And then, in the remainder of the book, the action is so fast it’s hard to take it in, and it feels like Rowling is stuffing it in as fast as she can, realising she only has a few thousand words left in which to reveal the rest of her convoluted plot. She does this to the extent that…

A Horcrux is destroyed off-camera. WHAT?!! After the fuss that was made with the previous ones, maiming Dumbledore, almost killing the trio and destroying their friendship, Ron and Hermione explain to Harry almost as a by-the-way that they popped off and destroyed the pesky remaining Horcrux somewhere else while he was busy. And not only this, but the reader is expected to believe that, in order to do so, Ron opened the Chamber of Secrets by himself. Ron – who, in the First Year, can’t even repeat ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ with the correct inflection – remembers the unintelligible hissing sound Harry produced in the Second Year, carries it with him down the years and, despite not being a Parselmouth, reproduces it correctly at the end of his Seventh Year, under epic levels of pressure. Yeah, no wonder you had to do that off-camera, Rowling, I expect you blushed as you wrote it. There’s far-fetched and then there’s ridiculous. (No Boggart jokes, please.)

Then there’s the Horcruxes themselves. If these were going to be so critical to the plot of the final book – of the entire series, in fact – why was there not the obliquest, tiniest hint of them until Book Six? After the publication of Book Five, the internet was jumping with people’s suggestions for how the series might end and the possible outcomes of the main plotlines. JKR is known to read fan sites, and I can’t help but wonder if she got spooked when people guessed exactly how the books would end and felt that she, grand master of the plot twist, needed to throw in something extra that no one could possibly guess. Obviously this is speculation, but whether or not it’s true, I feel her choice was a mistake. A good analysis of a series like this ought to be able to predict expected outcomes. It’s Chekov’s Gun – if the gun is over the mantelpiece in Chapter One, it will be fired by the end of the book. I find it immensely clumsy and somewhat insulting to the reader to save up some bizarre Deus Ex Machina magical artefacts till the end of the series in order to flummox their expectations for the characters, plot and world you’ve had them invested in for six books.

And on that note, what about Dumbledore? Until this book, he is presented as a Gandalf figure, an Obi Wan, the wise old man who stands for good and truth. You have to be able to trust this archetype, and until now he is always to be relied upon. The plot of Book Two even hinges upon it. So when, newly and bizarrely, in Book Seven, doubt is cast on his character, we, like Harry, see it as a test of loyalty and a campaign of misinformation to be overcome by discovering the truth. Only it’s not. Turns out Dumbledore was always flawed and dodgy, only Rowling didn’t tell us so until now. So – in what, let’s not forget, is a morality story – she takes the patriarchal paragon of her Light Side, sullies him and pulls him apart and then leaves him like that. So there is no wisdom now, in her world, opposing the forces of Voldemort, no unquestionable good to match his unquestionable evil. No white, only black and shades of grey. Again, if she was going to do this, she needs to have set it up earlier on. We need a gradual shift in the way we see this figure as the story goes on and Harry matures. We need clues that we can pick up, even if Harry’s loyalty won’t let him see them. Saving it up for the last book just leaves the reader with a bad taste in their mouth, feeling let down and disappointed. You have to be able to trust a character to do what the character ought to do. If they do something else, they’ve been misrepresented to the reader. And in a morality story, that’s quite a big deal. One of the ways you can tell the good guys is that what they are and what they seem to be are almost invariably the same.

On the subject of things that have shifted into shades of grey by the end of the series… Every reader will remember the big deal that was made in Book Four of the Unforgiveable Curses when we are first introduced to them. Curses that control another’s body, inflict pain or kill are Unforgiveable, punishable by a mind-rotting stretch in Azkaban or even having your soul eaten by Dementors, and that’s that. Rowling uses it as a mark of evil for the reader – here’s a Death Eater, get ready for the Cruciatus! And then, in Book Seven, after three books of this being the standard behaviour, we see Professor McGonagall use an Unforgiveable Curse against someone. (Again, apologies for not being able to remember the details.) Harry doesn’t comment and doesn’t even appear to notice that anything is amiss! Given Rowling’s usual tricks, I was immediately convinced that this could not be McGonagall at all, but must be someone else assuming her appearance, since McGonagall would never, ever stoop to using one of these atrocious spells against another person. But no. It’s McGonagall. She’s just using Unforgiveable Curses now. By the end of the book, all of Harry’s team are doing it. And no one comments. It just becomes de rigueur, as nonchalantly as you like. Perhaps this is JK Rowling’s scintillating commentary on the brutality of war, but if so I think it needs some work to make it look like something more than mere expediency.

But then, if the good guys are getting so steeped in darkness, perhaps we might see a corresponding shift towards the light in the erstwhile villains of the piece? To give credit where it’s due, the story of Snape is possibly the most masterfully done of all the plotlines. And, for the record, I knew he was a good guy all along. The level of pride I feel for having believed in him is faintly ridiculous – but that’s the power of fiction, and that’s what Rowling cocked up with Dumbledore. Meanwhile, I was equally convinced that, by the end of the series, we would see some opportunity for redemption for Draco Malfoy, maybe even the whole Malfoy family. And, I hoped, we’d see a similar chance for Peter Pettigrew, that he might put right some of the wrongs he’d committed. But no. In the entire series of seven books, the Malfoy characters grow and change not one jot. Draco is an arrogant, elitist, snivelling bully in Book One and he’s an arrogant, elitist, snivelling bully in Book Seven. No change for Wormtail (does anyone else detect hints of Wormtongue from LotR?) either. Only Dudley Dursley gets a smidge of improvement. Other bad guys are nasty and nasty they shall remain.

On the subject of Draco Malfoy and lack of change, there’s the Epilogue. Painful to everyone but the most gushing of fan fiction writers. Scorpio Malfoy? Really? (You cannot be Sirius etc.)

And then there’s the final thing on the list of things I could have got over. Yes, we’re still on that list! I know, how bad could the big thing be that it makes all these glaring problems pale in comparison? We’ll come to that in a second. The last thing is the uneven treatment of the deaths of side characters. First there’s Dobby. OK, so, although this felt slightly overdone at times, the first death of someone the reader is supposed to care about should affect the main character enough to dwell on it. (I say supposed to because I know people who are reduced to spluttering rage by the mere mention of Dobby.) Similarly, the death of Fred Weasley is a horrible shock and is treated appropriately. But what about the casual mention of Harry spotting the bodies of Lupin and Tonks among the dead? Lupin was one of the Marauders, a hugely important figure to Harry in Book Three, best friend and ally of Sirius, critical in helping Harry to find and rescue his godfather, key member of the Order of the Phoenix and generally top guy. Not to mention that he was far more likeable than the awful Sirius, in my opinion. All right, so she didn’t want to spend much of her fast-building word count on his death, but surely it deserved a reaction at least! And likewise for Tonks. She wasn’t quite as important as Lupin, but her death deserved at least a response! Good grief.

But I could get over it. I could forgive it all, if not for the worst betrayal, the greatest insult of the lot.

In the climactic scene not only of the book but of the entire series, Harry is about to overcome Voldemort. At last, after the ultimate sacrifice of offering himself even unto death, the Little Hero Who Could is about to defeat the greatest villain of the age. And Voldemort says something along the lines of, “Tell me how you’ve managed to get past my defences and defeat me! Don’t tell me it was love; pathetic, useless love!”

Any little child could tell you what the answer to that question should be.

Harry should have said, “Yes, Voldemort, Love! Always love. The one thing you have never understood, the one thing you don’t have, the one thing over which you have no power. Love that protected me in the cradle and in the tomb. Love that you could neither win nor destroy, even with all your sorcery and knowledge. Love that belongs to muggles and wizards alike, love that does not falter in the face of evil. Love, that, stripped of everything else, is still unstoppable. Love wins the day.” And then Voldemort should either be redeemed by this revelation or destroyed to the uttermost.

But what happens instead? Harry reveals to the reader as well as Voldemort, “Haha, no, it was actually a clever trick with this wand.” At which point every reader who still cares has to pause in the middle of the CLIMACTIC ACTION SCENE to FLICK BACK and find out exactly what happened!

So, in one clumsy stroke, she both breaks the reader’s immersion in the action and kicks the legs out from under the over-arching theme of the ENTIRE SERIES! I’m sorry about all the Caps Lock, but four years on I still can hardly believe she did it.

And that’s what’s wrong with Harry Potter. That’s why I nearly threw the last book across the room in fury when I got to the end and she hadn’t fixed it. That’s why the series has sat on the shelves since then and I’m not sure how I’d feel if my son wanted to read it when he’s older. What a waste of an otherwise great series. What a waste of years of my life! You betrayed me, JK Rowling!

Now, apparently, Rowling has said elsewhere that the main theme of the series is death, not love. But I’m afraid I have to respectfully disagree. Death is just something that happens a lot in the books. That doesn’t make it a theme. Theme is commentary that arises from the narrative, not events that happen within it. And, to my mind, like it or not, love is and always was the theme of the Harry Potter story. If only JK Rowling had understood that.

Michael’s first words

Well. Wave after wave of illness, followed by Christmas, followed by more illness put the kibosh on my intention to update every week. But we must be due a patch of good health now, so let’s get back on the wagon. I was going to bombard you with a literary rant, but I thought maybe you’d like an easier topic first. So we’ll put off what was wrong with Harry Potter 7 until next time.

Then I was going to talk to you about my baby’s first words, but he says so many now that I’m not sure where to start. I’m proud of the fact that he’s picked up saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ on his own. I still enjoy his frequent cries of “Oh, WOW!” Most mornings he’ll wake up and start either pointing out as many things as he can name (light, tree, cup, book, bed, Daddy, bird, cloud, balloon) or spouting words that make me wonder what he’s been dreaming about (a common one being Iggle Piggle from In the Night Garden, who he calls ‘Piggle Piggle’).

He loves music and dancing and tries to sing some of the songs he knows: “Kwinkwa kwai, kwinkwa kwai” for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star; “Wow wow wow” for The Wheels on the Bus; “Row Row” for Row, Row Your Boat; “Baa baa” for Baa Baa Black Sheep, which he used to refer to simply as ‘Beep’; and the favourite, “Piggle Piggle Piggle” for Iggle Piggle’s theme song.

He’s nearly twenty months old now and says new words every day. Recent ones have included; water, medicine, muffin, giraffe, Pippin, ‘mote (for ‘remote’) and ‘side (for ‘outside’). It’s mind-boggling to see the rate at which children this age can learn, and I love seeing what complex words he’ll tackle and what he makes of them. For example, there’s that curvy, yellow fruit known in our house as a ‘balanee’.

Michael’s first word was ‘teeth’, which he said at about eight months old. At the time, I convinced myself he couldn’t really be saying it and I was imagining things, since I thought he was too young to be talking. However, he always said it when someone pointed out his or their teeth, and consistently got the pronunciation correct. Now, if he sees toothpaste or is asked what needs brushing, he’ll still say, “Teeth!” and look very pleased with himself. It might seem a bit of an odd first word, but people actually talk to babies about their teeth quite a lot! And he started saying the word at the time he got his first teeth.

I enjoy seeing how he associates words with the context in which they’re used. For example, if he wants to call his dad into the room, he shouts, “Clay!” in the exact intonation I would use. He will then turn to me and exclaim excitedly, “Daddy!” So he appears to think of ‘Clay’ as a calling word rather than Clay’s name. I wonder if he would use it to call anyone else? You might wonder if a child his age would be aware of his parents having names, but Michael stopped calling me ‘Mummy’ months ago and gave me my new name of ‘Mace’ – a hybrid of my title and name. He knows his own name, but he also seems to think that ‘Michael’ is a word for shouting at slightly older children while tearing around; and he also appears to think that any and all writing says ‘Michael’. It used to be ‘six six six’ until I started writing his name out for him.

One of his earliest words was ‘Look!’, which we still hear many times a day. This was also one of my first words, along with ‘Woof!’ Michael loves copying animal noises and prefers them over the names of the animals, even when he knows the name in question. (He’s recently learned to say ‘lion’, which gets trotted out along with, “LOAARRR!”)

A question I find arises from his use of language. If he says a word that is a close fit but incorrect, what does this show? It could be – as is usually suggested – that he hasn’t yet correctly understood the meaning of the word and is still narrowing down its definition in his mind. But another possibility – as is often the case with adult language learners, from my own experience – that he knows the word is incorrect, but is using the best option available in his vocabulary to convey to the hearer what he’s trying to say. So if he points to a tiger and says ‘lion’, is that because he doesn’t realise that you can’t use ‘lion’ for any big cat, or because he wants to point out the big cat but only knows the word for ‘lion’?

These vocabulary issues with young children are important because they have a bearing on our understanding of the way we work. I remember in school studying some standard doctrine on development (perhaps someone can furnish me with the name of the psychologist) based on experiments that, for instance, asked children to differentiate between two lengths of wood, asking which was the ‘higher’. When children pointed out the longer piece of wood, the conclusion was that children don’t know the difference between height and length. I would suggest rather that this shows the ability of children to grasp what the adult was getting at even when he or she uses a slightly inappropriate word.

If you’ve got this far through an unstructured and somewhat unfocused post, congratulations! If you know what your first word was, or remember any cute babyisms of other people’s, stick ‘em in the comments!

And stand by for an essay next week that has been a long time coming. Maybe once I’ve got it out of my system I’ll be able to think about Harry Potter again without getting angry!