Bloody kids!

What do kids get up to on the weekend these days? Why aren’t they sitting in front of their PlayStations, their X-Boxs or their Wiis? Why are they out?

When kids go out they get up to stuff. Sunday morning I spent skipping around trashed whipper-snippers, broken bikes, the stumps of small trees rent from the banking and piles of house-bricks hurled from somewhere and into nowhere for the sheer pleasure of having hurled them.

Broken bike

Broken whipper snipper

Hurled rocks

I was drawn back to that age from about 12 to 15 years when kids (okay, boys) have too much energy and too few places to direct it. I had years like that. I remember doing things that I wouldn’t want to describe on a forum as public as a blog, things that even now cause my skin to prickle. But it must be admitted that there’s something deeply pleasurable about destroying things when you’re 14: a kind of mindless calm that allows you to catch and kill numberless fish or birds; a Zen-like tranquility that comes from hitting something (ideally a piece of machinery or electronic gadgetry) repeatedly with a hammer until it’s smashed into tiny useless parts; an immense pleasure from the sound of breaking glass or shearing metal or splintering wood.

Or trashed whipper-snippers, bikes, tree stumps and house-bricks. Happy days.


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