It was the most high octane fun I remember having as a child.
Other childhood games included 'Lost Children', when we'd fend for ourselves by foraging in the well stocked larder and return to our Wendy House with feasts of twiglets and other savoury snacks.
I think I was one of those children who's imagination, sense of humour and general manner prompted adults to look at me (and one of my brothers) as either some kind of precocious, misunderstood, avant-garde child genius, or as a genuine ruh-tard. The line between these two states is very fine indeed, and my entire life has been spent treading clumsily between the two. To this day I have no idea if I'm a super genius who is far too intelligent for her own good and for your average human being to understand, or so profoundly retarded that it confuses people and fools them into thinking that I might just be some kind of Einstein. Who knows? But most conversations with my man lead me to the same conclusion that I'm just a vintage fucktard.
How I long for the days when life was so simple that a whole day could disappear, spent in blissful merriment with a blue exercise mat.
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