Twice in a day. It must be “putting mummy on the spot” day, or something similar. Nicco and I were reading another of Laurence Anholt’s fabulous artist books, Camille and the Sunflowers, about Vincent Van Gogh, when he asked: “Who is the better painter, Van Gogh or Leonardo da Vinci?”

Uh, oh. How do you answer that in a way a three-and-a-half year old will understand? I am ashamed to say I rambled on and on about artistic movements, techniques that change with time, personal preferences—none of which clearly cut the mustard, as he kept asking: “Yes, but which one is the best?”

In the end, though, inspiration struck. I asked him: “Which one do you prefer—Mona Lisa or the Sunflowers?”

“Mona Lisa,” he replied.

I seized on that to discuss taste. I am not sure I succeeded, but at least it was slightly less abstract than my earlier explanation.

However, I had just managed to pat myself for having overcome this hurdle when the little critter came up with something else. We were “drawing” words and numbers, when he suddenly asked:

“Can you draw me Jupiter?”

Excuse me? Where did that come from? I guess some of the stuff we read about planets and space exploration must have made a longer lasting impression than I had initially thought.

Never one to shirk a challenge, though, I got paper and marker and produced the ugliest looking drawing of Jupiter the world has ever seen.

Jupiter, anyone?

And then I made a fundamental mistake. I drew the spot. Which of course prompted the question:

“What is this, mummy?”

“It is a place on Jupiter where a storm has been going for more than 300 years. Seen from Earth, it looks like a big red spot.”

“Why has a storm been going on there for 300 years? What is it like?”

Blast me if I know. But I guess I only have myself to blame for eliciting questions to which I have no answer.