Still, I passed a kindergarten, or a nursery as we call them round here, and had to admire the colourful displays that could be seen through the windows. I vaguely remember creating such vibrant masterpieces myself when I was that age, in fact one is very clear in my memory as we still have it somewhere. It’s a cutout Christmas pudding that the nursery teacher must have helped with as it’s quite skilfully done, but the raisins are my little fingerprints in red and purple paint. Bless me.
I’d love to go back to nursery, you get to sing songs, listen to stories, drink milk, mess about with Play-Doh and even take naps on the floor! I guess I could do that at home but it’s not quite the same when you’re a thirty-year-old guy who lives alone, it just comes across as lazy, and possibly a little creepy.