This building is not curved, that’s just the way the panoramic photo came out, but imagine it very long and straight. There are three entrances to the building: one at the beginning, the middle (under the TO LET sign) and the end. Stairs take you to the upper
level, where there are offices. A long corridor connects
the offices. When I was wee we used to dare each other to sneak in the first door, dash up the stairs and run along the upper corridor as fast as we could without getting caught. If you thought you weren’t going to make it, you could chicken out through the middle door but the thing was to get to the last door. It was very scary at the time. When you succeeded (I only once chickened out through the middle door) you felt elated.
It seems daft now to think something so simple could have given me such a thrill. But I suppose that’s the magic of being a child. We can create the extraordinary in the ordinary without even trying. It’s much harder to do this as an adult. We are far too sensible to take risks, which means our lives are considerably more boring than when we were children, at least mine is 😉 Maybe this is why so many of us enjoy reading. Through books we can experience the thrills and spills of life, live vicariously, from the comfort of our sensible, safe homes. I also think that’s why many of us writers write. At least, that’s why I read (and write books). Why do you read books? What was the scariest thing you did as child? And, yes, that’s a picture of me underneath – and, yep, butter wouldn’t melt ;o)
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