NEARLY six years have passed since our little granddaughter, Chloe, came into our lives. And, sadly, I remain under no illusion about my place in the pecking order.

Don’t get me wrong, I think she loves me deep down, but it’s abundantly clear that she prefers my wife, not least because her beloved Ganma displays an admirable willingness to join in fantasy games with Fuzzy Felt characters.

I do my best to compete, of course. In fact, Chloe and I had a very nice time building dens in the lounge the other day while Ganma was making Sunday lunch, but, mostly, I might as well be invisible.

It’s even worse for me when Auntie Hannah causes wild excitement with one of her visits from London. The pair of them are ‘bestest friends’ and Hannah is followed in Chloe’s affections by Uncle Jack and Uncle Max. To be fair, the uncles are interchangeable – sometimes she prefers Uncle Jack, sometimes it’s Uncle Max – but I’m unequivocally at the bottom of the family tree.

Indeed, if it was a choice between me and Roly, the pet guinea pig, it would be no contest. Come to think of it, I’m even less popular than Roly’s brother, Miles – and he’s dead.

I’d like to think I’m more loved than Baby Elephant, the cuddly toy Chloe’s Daddy brought her back from a trip to America a few years ago, but I’d be kidding myself.

I increasingly need a thick skin – elephant skin – to cope but people keep telling me it’ll change in time. Don’t try too hard, they say – be patient – but there are honestly times when I think I’m fighting a losing battle.

Take what happened yesterday as an example. Chloe was walking home from school with her Daddy when she passed a bush, bearing a rich autumn harvest.

“Daddy, can we pick those red berries, take them home and eat them in a pie?” she asked.

“No, Chloe, we mustn’t do that – they could be poisonous and make you very ill,” her Daddy explained, gently.

Chloe considered this for a few seconds before replying: “OK, Daddy – shall we get Grandad to test them first?”

THE THINGS THEY SAY

CHLOE, nearly six, was having a conversation with her Daddy about boys at school.

“I like James – he’s my boyfriend,” she declared. “I did kiss Bobby but he’s not my boyfriend.”

Her Daddy took a deep breath and said: “Chloe, I think you’re a bit young to be kissing boys and having boyfriends.”

Chloe shrugged. “Too late,” she replied.

“YOU think you know everything, don’t you, Chloe?” said our eldest after another challenging exchange with his daughter.

“Well, I must get that from SOMEONE, mustn’t I?” she replied with a telling look.

MEANWHILE, here’s one from my wife – delivered with a straight face: “I need to make room in the fridge…so I’ll just finish off this bottle of Prosecco.”