Sharing an office with a 20-month old is anything but dull. Extreme vigilance is required if you don’t want to trip over a ball (or 5), books, pieces of Lego and wooden bricks, an old telephone, plastic trucks, a tub of Play-Doh and a xylophone. Just when I think he’s busy amusing himself with building Lego towers, I sneak off and place my bum on the swivel chair. Unfortunately, as soon I start navigating the PC with my mouse, the cursor suddenly jerks 180 degrees in the other direction as my right arm gets tugged by a little hand.
Don’t ask me what it means, because I swear the boy has devised his own language, called Afrish. While I speak Afrikaans to him and Neil English, neither of us understand him as yet. He’s on planet Gabriel.