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On Friday Alfie had a very special delivery of his first house.

There is one constant in Alfie's play regimes and that is if there is a play house in a 10 metre radius, the house is belong to him. Or more specifically the door.

Door opens, door closes, door opens, door closes.

I'll be honest, it's not a game that plays out well with other children and usually ends up in squawking hissy fits from whoever loses the battle of It's-My-Door-No-It's-Not.

So we saw a house recently with some money off and decided to use some vouchers we had hanging about to splurge and give Alfie a front door of his very own.

Check out the Mediterranean pose ... Ciao!

So after he installed himself in his house, we thought it might be nice to see if he might want to play. Keith went up to the door, knocked and asked to come in - yeah I know, like he'd fit, right? - the answer was unequivocally "No!".   

That's the polite version, the actual reaction involved the baby equivalent of "F'coff" and the threat of wanton violence.

Keith sensibly beat a hasty retreat but if anyone wants to come over for a play date, I'm sure we can hog tie him long enough to let someone else have a go.

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