Fordyce Maxwell: 'She finally tired of scuttling on her knees like Toulouse-Lautrec'

LAST weekend was a busy one for sport with reports of football championships, promotions and relegations, the vroom, vroom, vroom, pass the valium, of motor racing, the biff, bonk, biff, thirteigh-forteigh, of Andy Murray, golf, rugby, cricket and much more.

But one achievement went unrecorded, something I'd like to rectify by noting that by constant practice over that weekend I improved my personal best for the four metres, PB as we sporting types say, by 0.3 of a second.

Never as slow as the "You could tell he was running by the expression on his face" description once applied to an international centre-half, I wasn't a speed merchant even in my (trade descriptions alert) hey-day. But I was lightning, with no YouTube evidence to contradict that, over five metres.

Having a toddler about the house last weekend to suggest that that old magic had gone was a shock. Toddlers, our 15-month-old grand-daughter Ebba naturally more than most, move so quickly and unexpectedly they could give the speed at which Kirk and Spock are beamed from exploding planet to USS Enterprise a run for its money.

Ebba's ability to reach warp factor 9 in nano-seconds from a standing start has only happened over the past two or three weeks when she finally tired of scuttling about on her knees in a good impersonation of Toulouse-Lautrec. Those first unsteady steps have become a purposeful stride, 14 laps of the kitchen table no trouble, the length of the garden a challenge to her and the speed of disappearance from living room to stairs a challenge to us.

I thought we were braced for a change to which Ebba's mum and dad have already adapted effortlessly, encouraged by the fact that tiring herself out more during the day means that she sleeps a little longer at night before her dawn chorus of "The wheels on the bus go round and round…" and "Wind the bobbin up" – she holds a tune well, words still need some attention – gives way to "Hiya" and "Hello" as in "Hello – is there anybody there?" with increasing urgency.

But for me it does recall trying to deal with a small, fast, tricky winger, constantly on the alert, watching for the sudden dart, the "now you see me, now you don't" feint, always one eye peeled, no matter any other distractions such as book, newspaper or cup of tea, for little legs starting to go like the clappers.

Luckily there were four of us about most of the time, a fair balance of adults to active toddler, and she does settle to activities that don't involve high-speed chases, particularly outdoors. Transferring gravel from path to back-green after close inspection of each piece is a good one, and the portable sandpit was almost as much fun as putting compost into a watering can with a plastic seed tag then mixing it thoroughly.

Using the same tag to start digging out a row of lettuce seedlings in a plastic gutter wasn't such a good idea, but I'm prepared to put up with these early attempts for long-term gain – by the time she's five I expect her to spend a holiday digging the garden when she isn't racing round it.