Long walks and chicken crisps

I don't recall very much about my time at nursery school, other than that it was very far away from our house. It was the eighties: the world was a bit less 'developed'; a bit more spread out. Also, my Mum was getting her carbon off-setting in early during this period, by not driving a car. So my abiding memory of nursery was the epic walk there and back. It was the final alleyway, about 100 yards from home, which always broke me, psychologically. It's possible that I cried once or twice at this point. I still feel a sense of exhausted dread if I pass that spot when visiting my parents now. Having said that, I'm renowned these days as a first class walker, which, in hindsight, I suppose I owe to this frequent ordeal.

We made jam sandwiches once. (At nursery; not on the journey home.) My Mum let me get some crisps to accompany my creation. I daringly went for chicken flavour, which turned out to be a bit disappointing, but I appreciated the opportunity. Thanks Mum. My memory seems to favour quality over quantity.

All of which fascinating nostalgia is failing to bring me to my point: nursery school is extremely important. The particular activities undertaken there may not be entirely memorable thirty years later, but they form the basis around which children learn precious practical and social skills. I don't believe children should have to worry about learning calculus or studying Shakespeare at this stage; but they're much more likely to engage with the academic stuff when the time does come, if they're already equipped with the abilities to mix with others, listen and converse. Which is why my wife and I have bravely overcome our fear of losing our three year-old to the big, wide world and allowed her to start her own nursery adventure.

This fear was quite considerable. We have gone overnight from knowing every last detail of her activities and thoughts, to having these five-hour interaction blackouts, three times a week. As well as the obvious fear of her suffering distress and injury when we are unable to help her, our only knowledge of what our daughter's up to comes from our her own reports, supplemented briefly by the staff at the nursery - the (no doubt very lovely and well-qualified) strangers with whom we have entrusted her.

Our daughter's reports vary in quality, if I'm honest. I asked her the other day if she'd made any friends there yet. She enthusiastically confirmed that she had, with someone apparently called "Fanana". My doubts about the accuracy of this information quickly gave way to heartbreak when this new acquaintance's habits were described to me: "Fanana likes to say 'Leave me alone!' "

Sob. Whimper.

On the whole, though, one bad day (which followed a spectacularly sleepless night) aside, she does seem to be thriving. The nursery staff speak highly of her, assuming you take 'willful' as a compliment, as I choose to. Last week she brought home a flag she had made to commemorate St. George's Day. Personally, I don't count patriotism amongst my most cherished qualities, so I was quite pleased that her subversive effort was more Japan than England. But the point is that - while our walls are proudly covered in examples of her considerable artistic skills - this was the first time that she had gone out, made something and brought it home. This landmark feels significant on some fundamental level.

I think it's too early to tell whether the experience is changing her. There does seem to have been a lot of heavy tantrumming recently; it's quite feasible that this is a reaction to any stress her change in circumstances may have caused. But it could just as easily be down to the cold she's had. Either way, we're confident that this will pass. And if we're speculatively attributing things to her new lifestyle, then it deserves credit for the ease with which she charmed the son of some friends we spent the day with yesterday. They held hands and everything.

Our younger daughter, meanwhile, is starting to strongly appreciate the exclusive attention she is suddenly granted for fifteen hours a week. Again: it could be coincidence, but her personality is rapidly emerging, and I think it's going to be a good one. This young lady has mastered cute. Like most qualities I don't possess, I find this cuteness difficult to describe in any precise terms. It's something to do with the looks she gives you, and the voice with which she expresses her burgeoning vocabulary. Like many one year-olds, she's a bit of a butter fingers, but any spillage can be forgiven when followed by my daughter chirruping: "Drop!" She has also recently perfected 'dinosaur' which, as Peppa Pig's little brother George will tell you, is an irresistible word in the hands (mouth?) of a toddler.

So, all in all, I think that this notable development in our family's life is going as well as can be expected. I just hope Fanana learns some manners soon.

And, in case you're wondering, we drive to nursery. It's a really long way.