I write this the day after Oran’s fourth birthday, and a month or so after Tallulah turned two.

None of this should be particularly revelatory, as I am familiar with the concept of time, and its perpetual encroachment. Moreover, I have been abundantly aware of the cruel, inverse correlation that the less time you have, and older you get, the more it passes at breakneck speed.

Such was Oran’s birthday party on Sunday- the same venue as last year, and to a large extent the same team line-up of friends from nursery, cousins and children of friends they see most of. That didn’t prevent the fact that last year’s shindig felt as if it was three or so months ago. The imminent return of the Fringe to Edinburgh serves the same role of feeling as if the last year has been concertina’ed into a six month gap or so. In particular, it seems that approaching August must be a mistake, as it was early May the last time I checked.

Birthdays can have a curious effect on parents, as can other benchmarks in a young life. I recall the ennui and angst which met Oran growing out of size 1 nappies, as it was a symbol that our baby would not be just that for long. However, greater experience now means that it it’s preferable to embrace each stage as it comes, coupled with the prospect of no more regular nappy changes for a generation. That said, it is a shame that Lula’s renditions of ‘I’m nearly two’ to the tune of Tom Hark are a thing of the past, even as we watch in wonder at the remarkable progress they both make, often apparently independent of our best efforts at parenting.

Embracing the moment, and trying to make it as much fun as possible for all involved means I type as we prepare for a trip to Camp Bestival for the weekend, with parental excitement tempered slightly by our awareness of distance, as of time- more particularly the distance between Edinburgh and Dorset. Days after our return we have the month-long extravaganza which is the Edinburgh Fringe, Festival and Book Festival on our doorstep.

My only concern at the moment is that thanks to the delusion of parenthood I could swear that I am more a fan of them now than when they pitched up; bearing in mind I’ve been fit to burst since then my old heart may not take much more.