On Thursday, I was pushing Bernard around the supermarket, as I do. We reached the last aisle, where I saw a display of cheap toy cars – 69p each, or 2 for £1. A huge “3+” emblem in the corner of the box made it clear that these were not going to be suitable for Bernard for nearly 2 more years.
“Well, baby, ” I said, “I’ll buy a couple and then look after them for you.”
And now, I hold my red 1/56 Honda S2000 and my yellow 1/57 VW Golf ((yes, the different scales do mean that the Golf looks awkwardly small and the S2000 looks awkwardly large)) in my hands, and think “By golly, these feel good.”
Toy cars. Where have I been all these years? I’ve been in a wilderness for the last decade or two, but I have returned.
Here, do yourself a favour. This weekend, buy yourself a toy car. You’ll feel fantastic.
*UPDATE: I’ve taught Bernard to push the cars around on the floor and make vrooming noises. Karen is most impressed. Truth be told, so am I. Vroooom!*
