
I vividly remember NOT EVER wanting to go to nursery. Each day, as I walked toward my Cornish gaol house on the hill, I'd desperately invent reasons why my mum couldn't take me. I always ended up exactly where I was supposed to be, although I refused to engage in any activities, sitting alone in the reading room, poring over the Lady Bird classic The Magic Porridge Pot. Despite the kindly faces of Mrs Kent and Mrs Whipford encouraging me to join in, I was going to stay where I was. I was quite simply terrified!
It wasn't until my dad quietly told me that IF I went into the Wendy House and tried playing with the other children, he'd buy me a car. I thought he meant a REAL car like his, but was then assured it would be a of the Matchbox variety. This made me reconsider. Maybe, for a Matchbox car, I COULD overcome my fears?
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