Curiosity is a word I identify with. When I was a kid, I enjoyed exploring. There weren’t any limits - other than my attention. At home, when things became stagnant, my curiosity would take me somewhere. Once I had finished wrestling a sock off the family dog, Bob, I would sketch a concept for a rock climbing car. After a sausage sandwich in the garden shed, which inevitably involved a bench vice or an axe, it was time for “air rifle vs food” - all documented with a camera for later analysis of course. In one afternoon, I had discovered the elastic limitations of 70pc cotton 30pc polyester socks, refined my concept for the “Rock Racer” and determined that eggs are more satisfying to shoot than apples - or even carrots. But carrots are more satisfying to squish in a vice!

Then my brother became old enough to participate. Suddenly I had a partner in crime and this made things much more interesting. Twice as much curiosity, courage and creativity. I won’t lie, it landed us into a fair bit of trouble at times. I remember taking the air rifle into next-door’s farm and chasing pheasants through crop fields: While the exhilaration was worth every bit of the bollocking we received from our father, I learned a more permanent lesson - I do not like killing things - apart from mosquitos. When we tied James’ scooter to the back of my bicycle during the summer holidays, we learned another rather painful lesson: That my 5 year old brother’s face was no match for tarmac.

I suppose most people would call this playing. And all kids do that if they can… Perhaps thats the key to most kids’ happiness. But we seem to lose that as adults.