It’s 2am and I can’t get to sleep, so I’m doing something constructive instead.

This probably happened around May 1968, when I was not quite a year old. It has to be May 1968 . . . apparently my attention was caught by the news on TV, a large number of demonstrators calling out the name of the French Prime Minister, Pompidou. I joined in, though I could only say “Bomp-ee-doo”,  jumping up and down with excitement in my pram. It gave my father the idea of rocking my pram and saying “Bomp-ee-doo, bomp-ee-doo”  whenever he needed to keep me entertained. Later on, it became the generic term for being bounced on his knee or anything like being bumped up and down across rumble strips or cattle grids (“That was a bit bomp-ee-doo, wasn’t it?”)  So it entered our family language: kitchen table lingo. (For the project of that name – see   #mce_temp_url# ) It’s also strangely onomatopoeic.

It shows, though, that at the time I could hear and act on what I heard.

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