So my son has reached raptor level intelligence. Not the true-to-life chicken sized dinosaurs, I mean Jurassic Park velociraptors – in that he can open doors. He has, though, a certain courtesy, genetic or learned who can say. I was having a shower this morning and heard a sharp, deliberate knock, thinking it was a grown considerate adult until I heard the floor-high announcement ‘Knock-knock-knock’, followed by the horror-film close-up on the doorknob, as it rattled and gradually jutted around to reveal the beaming face of little Jackson, delighted with his new developments; his next stage of evolution.