Dot writes: it may have been subtly intimated before on this blog that Hugh, although clearly the world’s best baby in all the categories that really count, is not the greatest at sleeping. In fact we’d got to the point (by gradual degrees) where I had to go to bed with him every evening, and although in theory I would creep away once he was in milky slumber to engage in adult activities like starting the dishwasher or checking facebook, increasingly this just meant my day ended when his did. Fortunately he stays up late by baby standards. Anyway, yesterday, with me feeling cheesed off and grumpy, we decided that from now on Ken would put Hugh to bed, in his own cot, in his own room, with the aid of a bottle, and we’d start to work him towards staying there all night. (Hugh won’t take the cot treatment from me. His stamina for hysterical sobbing is considerably greater than mine for listening.) Last night he was asleep in his cot at 8.15 and managed to stay there until a bit after eleven. But this evening he may have worked out how to foil us. It’s half past nine and he’s still awake, vaguely waving a wooden toy around and occasionally hitting his father.