I like cut-out bits from magazines but I hate ruining the magazine, kind of like my big sister who used to love stickers when she was little but would hate the idea of 'wasting' the best ones - you know those sheets of stickers you can get at the newsagents; she would save the prettiest or the biggest ones for as long as possible until she found the perfect place to stick it. And then once it's stuck it's kind of a letdown, don't you think? Maybe.
Speaking about being a little kid we were talking about our childhoods with my family last night, and it seems irrational fears were common at least with my big sister and I. I used to be afraid of the clicking sound the tape player would make once the storybook tape was finished. My sister was afraid of a framed photograph of two children walking into the woods that used to hang in our room. We lived a life of comforting, secure routine. Little worrisome me, who woke up at the same time every morning even on weekends, the fussiest and slowest eater, chores always done and nails always clipped and never ever did a drop of 'fizzy drink' grace my delicate mouth lest my tongue be burnt by the fizziness (that's what I thought anyway).
Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on something, particularly when I recall that 'dessert' in our household was one slice of wholemeal bread with a thin smearing of margarine, halfway through 'Sale of the Century' which I watched every night religiously despite never being able to answer any of the questions.
But as my mother pointed out, without that specific, albeit kind of weird, upbringing, I wouldn't be who I am today. Similarly worrisome. Similarly obsessed with routine. Similarly reluctant to consume fizzy drinks. But with such a heightened thirst for change, I believe seven year old me would have passed out, knowing the way I feel today.
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