Next: Five-year-olds master satire.

I went to a wedding on Saturday which, I must admit, was pretty enjoyable. The bride was lovely, and the reception was in the Muttart conservatory, so there were a number of opportunities to walk and enjoy the plants - which I avoided as much as possible, as unlit greenhouses at night are unnerving. I felt like I was in a Hitchcock movie, or at least a Tim Burton one, and as much fun as they are to watch, I wouldn't necessarily want to be IN one.

The rest of the reception was very nice, though; the choir alumni pretty much took over the dance floor, as we are wont to do. And as an added bonus, we shocked the proper, god-fearing, church-going attendees with our mondegreen - and slightly X-Rated - version of the Grease Medley, which is turning into a bit of a wedding tradition on my part. ("I got shoes! They're made of plywood.")

For a fair bit of the reception, though, Jago and I spent some time with E, a quiet little guy of nearly two years, who has a personality that fits with us pretty well. Jago and I like babies, and we're big enough to wrangle them away from people with a minimum of fuss. To our surprise, we discovered that E is a master of subtle humour. Case in point: he got his mother to unbuckle the seatbelt on his stroller, and he looked as though he was about to get up and explore. I dropped my coat on him and pulled it off in a strange version of peekaboo: he looked up at me, smirked, and began to try to put his seatbelt back on in a very jokey manner. I didn't realize that wit developed so early in children.