Our home is a verbose household. We’ve never really felt the need to talk in baby babble to our kids and both us like expressive language. When I was younger, I used to sit with Dad’s 1950’s big hardback dictionary, lamenting the loss of words like Aardwolf from common usage and pocket dictionaries.

Whilst none of the kids have turned in to the readers that either of us were at their ages (I blame us and the fact there’s just so much more to do now that doesn’t involve reading), we have managed to get some fairly idiosyncratic language instilled in the kids, particularly the boy. If he’s not smiting this or that, he’s oft found to be threatening to destroy one of us. Even Ned, who’s only 4, often decides to add “actually” to sentences for emphasis.

Fifi on the other hand appears to be a reincarnated German. She has a love for compound nouns that only someone of a Teutonic background could foster. Not for her cheese on toast, for her it’s all about the “toasted bread placed under the grill with cheese on top so it melts”. Much like me, she’s loathe to use one word when there are 15 that would suffice…