This afternoon I was entertaining Billy by swatting the cord that dangles from the light fitting in our bedroom. The swinging motion utterly enthralled him; he kicked his legs squeaking with joy every time I did it.

Seeing any unusual occurrence in his immediate environment seems to delight him no end. Childhood is a bit like a prison. You go from being physically unable to effect your environment to being given strictures about everything you’d like to do by your parents. Wherever you are for most of your early childhood you aren’t there by volition you are there because your parents have put you there. Whether it’s in the back seat of a car, led in your cot, strapped into a high chair, or supine on an itchy rug.

It got me thinking about the little things I used to focus on to help the time pass when I was a kid. The most redolent memory I have is of following the tracks of raindrops as they snaked down the window of our car. I can still see them merging with their fellows as they fell, gathering speed toward the bottom and disappearing out of sight. I’d then pick a new one, usually a wee fleck of a drop, the underdog of the window, so a successful descent would be all the more rewarding.

I can also remember staring at patterns on wallpaper and carpets. I’d let my mind drift until a face or an animal made an appearance. Sometimes I’d get an image of a perfectly expressive face with perhaps a beard and a scowl. Then it would melt away in front of my eyes. I never saw the same face two days running and this always troubled me.

I liked to hold a finger so close to my face I could see through it, or poke said finger into my ear and taste the acrid wax.

I’d ruffle the sheets in my bed so they formed a rich moonscape. I’d then look at it side-on and imagine I was much smaller and could explore the ground I’d just terraformed.

I used to pick at the edge of the carpets to see if I could squeeze my fingers underneath; always wary of the nails that could prick me if I wasn’t careful.

I think I must have spent 2 full years of my life staring at the crack of light that filtered in through my bedroom door. This was pure torture. Listening to the rumblings of activity and seeing the flicker in the crack as my parents passed. Please come in! Please end the monotony!

I can only apologize in advance to young Billy for the hours of tedium we’re about to put him through. The only comfort I can offer is that it did me no harm, and it sure made me appreciate my freedom when I grew up.