WHAT with all the 11-pluses, SATs tests, end-of-term exams, spellings, tables, reading and stacks of other homework we have been dealing with in our house in the year and a half since our youngest was born, we haven't paid much attention to his intellectual development.

That was until I read a newspaper article that said some children of 18 months have as many as 600 words in their vocabulary. Six hundred. Albert hasn't even said one, at least not that I've noticed.

This revelation coincided with the health visitor's call informing me he was due for his developmental check up. These are testing times, even for toddlers. His first major aptitude test, and we only had a week to revise.

We launched into a crash course in basic words. His big brothers spent all their free time coaching him, they even made flash cards. But nothing worked.

Albert grunts and he points. He knows how to get what he wants. He understands most of what we're saying. If I ask him to run upstairs and get his shoes, he will do. He makes animal noises. He says the "M" sound for me and "D" sound for his father. But still, not one word.

While his brothers are usually tied up in knots on the morning of their tests, Albert sauntered into his big exam without a care. He passed the height and weight sections with glowing colours. He stacked a pile of bricks with ease.

But still, no words. "We expect them to have at least six by this stage," said the health visitor expectantly. I looked at Albert, willing him to astound us and blurt out something like "multiculturism" or "disestablishment". Of course, "dog" or "cat" would do. But nothing.

The health visitor gave him grade "O" for speech, which stands for "continuing observation". Shame there wasn't a grade for singing, or dancing, which he can do beautifully.

And this morning he even managed to change the controls on the dishwasher so that it now communicates to me in German, rather than English, which was a pretty good trick, I thought. Sadly, there is no room for any of these types of achievements on his records.

"Don't worry Albert, you have plenty of time," I reassured him on the way out. Then I told him the story of how one of his older brothers had once done a drawing of me with legs coming out of my head during a developmental check.

The concerned health visitor said I should practise drawing with him. I didn't, because I thought it was quite witty and creative. "And he's turned out all right," I told Albert.

He didn't respond, he was too busy concentrating on filling his nappy. Now we're just waiting for that magical first word...

TWO of the boys are Leeds fans. They were desolate on Sunday as their team was relegated from Premiership to First Division. "You're not going to want to go and see Leeds play next year, are you?" I said. "It's going to be dull. Why not support someone else?" The 12-year-old was horrified. "You can't do that, Mum, you stick with your team." Some of the worst teams have got the most amazing fans. That's the magic of football. Leeds may be going down, but their fans are going up in my estimation.