How sentimental can you get?

There's no avoiding being a little sentimental when you first start a family. Over the past 17 months we have collected all sorts of things.

We have saved the outfit George wore the moment after he was born; we have his first pair of booties and his first pair of shoes; we have his first hand painting (which, being in red paint, looks like a mini murder scene); we have his first toy and even his first lock of hair from his first hair cut.

There are other little mementos we have kept too, such as all his first Christmas and birthday cards and tickets from his first miniature train ride or trip to the zoo. Some of it's a bit daft really and we'll probably have a sort out and wonder why we kept much of it. In the meantime we tend to keep lots of things – just for sentimental value – but it's knowing where to draw the line that can be a little difficult.

The other day we were rummaging through the kitchen cupboard, certain that we had some couscous (we regularly buy and use couscous and couldn't believe we might have run out). At the very back of the cupboard – a little too high for mummy to reach – I found the box of couscous. On closer examination it appeared to be one that had found its way to the back of the cupboard and had been overlooked as newer boxes took its place at the front of the cupboard. However, we could hardly bring ourselves to throw it away we noticed the 'best before' date. "Aaaah, look, couscous with George's date of birth on it."

Well, if you're wondering whether we kept it or not, I can tell you that we now know where the line is drawn... couscous box went in the bin.

In a bit of a spin

We're all in a bit of a spin this week and that's why 'blog day' is a day late. It's all because mummy swapped her day off which meant George and I spent all day Wednesday together instead of our usual Friday.

Anyway, everything is settling back down again and we're looking forward to a straightforward weekend when George will be visiting his friend Noah – where he'll probably get to show off his new dance moves... and speaking of spinning, that's exactly what George's new moves involve – spinning and grinning until he lands in a heap on the floor.

George and Noah... and some kind of hat dance

The good thing about George's dancing is that it doesn't require good music (or any music for that matter) – George even likes to dance to the sound of the cows mooing in his animal noises book. It all hinges on a happy moment and if George is having a sudden burst of happiness he'll partake in a spot of spontaneous dance.

Occasionally, I like to join in, and so does mummy, although I do have difficulty in finding the rhythm in cows mooing. However, I have discovered that modelling my dance moves on Iggle Piggle's groovy gyrations is most successful and a darn site easier than attempting to emulate the moves on a certain Saturday night celebrity dance show – which, of course, George wouldn't appreciate that kind of effort anyway. Besides, Iggle Piggle always gets his girl, so he's certainly doing something right.

Strange thing is, George will watch Boogie Beebies – the excruciatingly grating children's dance show with moves based on everything from fruit to pirates – with utter indifference (that's if I haven't turned it off first). Which makes me think he does actually have some taste in his dancing accompaniment.

One of the programmes he will stop doing almost anything for is 'Numberjacks' – a show about number characters who live in a sofa and put a stop to all manner of numerical mayhem. So... with this in mind, when we were at the supermarket I spotted some 'Numberetti' spaghetti shapes and after checking the tin to make sure it passed our 'is-it-good-enough-for-George-to-eat' test, we popped them in the basket for George's tea, thinking he'd be well impressed by food that's made of numbers.

They went in his mouth with the toast (brown bread, of course) and somehow he managed to eat the toast and the spaghetti sauce and deposit the numbers on to his chin. Needless to say, daddy had the pleasure of eating the remaining half a tin of Numberetti spaghetti – well at least I had my five a day that day... and my six... and my seven... and my three... and my eight... oooh, and my nine.

Making friends is easy

George doesn't have to try too hard to make friends, mainly because he goes out of his way to wave at everyone and everything with the sincere expectation that they will wave back, smile, say hello or pat his little head. He looks genuinely concerned, if not a little dismayed, if someone doesn't acknowledge his wavy greeting.

Our week in Corfu was a bit of a waving success with a high rate of returns. There were waiters to wave at in the tavernas – they always waved and smiled, and even better, they brought humous, tzatziki, moussaka and fresh bread to the table. There were boats and waterskiers to wave at in the sea – and sometimes it was just as much fun waving to the sea itself... the sea always waved back. There were cats – many, many cats – to wave at around almost every corner, and they were such fun to chase too. Then there were other little babies to wave at, or perhaps shout 'baba' at.

Baby Mabel was particularly taken with George and tried to follow him as he went on a mission to investigate a parked car, and little Lauren happily played with George until her parents called her away when she followed him to his highchair in a beachside taverna as we sat down for lunch (I think I see the makings of a little heartbreaker!).

But one day George will have to learn that not everyone or everything wants to be a friend, or even friendly – I don't know who had the luckier escape when George picked up a wasp to befriend... George didn't get stung and the wasp flew away unharmed.

For the moment though, this age of innocence is a time to treasure and I'm quite happy to keep an eye on George as he makes friends with everything from penguins to vacuum cleaners.

Holiday album

George was on his hols last week. His first flights went pretty well and he seemed to enjoy himself all week. In fact, he'd like to show you a few of his holiday snaps...

So this is the place that inspired Lawrence Durrell to write Prospero's Cell... I might get my crayons out!

Who needs a sea view when there are cars, vans and people to wave at?

A taverna with a playhouse...

what more could you want?

Captain George!

Dad's shades actually look a lot better on me!

It may be a nice beach, but it's rubbish for sandcastles!

I know it's called a spade, but I like to call a spade a spoon.

Right, that's it. Enough of the photos now Daddy!

OK then... just one last arty farty one