The climbing frame in my primary school was a formidable and exhilarating structure, all cold, grey steel bars, and I remember vividly as an eight-year-old looking up at its dizzying heights and wondering if I’d ever be able to climb to the top.
And when I did, it was a thrill like nothing else I’d experienced. Balancing on the steel bar while holding on for dear life looking out over all the playground, I felt like a king.
When I fell — the bars were wet and slippy — my fall was broken not by bark chippings or foam matting, but by the rather less forgiving tarmac. This, after all, was the Eighties and health and safety had yet to be invented. And yes, my schoolmates and I were all on first-name terms with the receptionist at the local A&E; and yes, I still have the scars.