Yes, I think it's probably rather a shame that all my maths teaching at primary school was so singularly ghastly, as I obviously had quite an appetite for it that went entirely to waste. As I remember my people spoke a curious mixture of English, Welsh, and various imaginary languages: the map was carefully emended to indicate areas of particular linguistic anomaly! The accounts were quite something, because I made the numbers up as I went along (outgoings of various kinds; income largely of trade and taxes) so each week I wasn't quite sure whether we were going to come out in the red or not! My country was called Goston, and my rather marvellous name was Jaclceon Prettler; I was 32. Evidently I thought that *quite* old enough for stateswoman purposes.
It's odd how the practical side of these imaginary experiences can be by such a long way the most exhilarating part (ie stick-gathering for your pyre). I suppose it's something about the temporary coincidence of the fantastic and the real that's so pleasing (fantastic context; real sticks). My little sisters and I had a ridiculous but strangely marvellous game called 'weary traveller'. The entire content was: one sister limps up to the shed - the 'weary traveller' - is welcomed and met with 'soup'. This was fundamentally a pretext for the great pleasure of leaving grass and leaves to steep in an old kettle for long enough that the water turned green ('soup'). It is odd though, and pleasing, how resiliently children continue to play at the most archetypal stories (weary traveller could have come straight from Exodus really) despite the utter lack of any real life analogues whatsoever.
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It's odd how the practical side of these imaginary experiences can be by such a long way the most exhilarating part (ie stick-gathering for your pyre). I suppose it's something about the temporary coincidence of the fantastic and the real that's so pleasing (fantastic context; real sticks). My little sisters and I had a ridiculous but strangely marvellous game called 'weary traveller'. The entire content was: one sister limps up to the shed - the 'weary traveller' - is welcomed and met with 'soup'. This was fundamentally a pretext for the great pleasure of leaving grass and leaves to steep in an old kettle for long enough that the water turned green ('soup'). It is odd though, and pleasing, how resiliently children continue to play at the most archetypal stories (weary traveller could have come straight from Exodus really) despite the utter lack of any real life analogues whatsoever.