The first thing Izobel uttered this morning.

The very second she awoke.

Was a question.

This question:


How did we get home?

She asked.


Being in lockdown.

Izobel and I hadn’t actually been anywhere to come home from.

So I was pleased that Izobel’s 4 year old imagination had whisked her away.



To goodness-knows-where as she slept.

Maybe Izobel was wondering how she got back home to her bed from a glittering palace.

A fine royal habitat.

Crafted from pearls and set amongst the clouds.

Or a spinning purple planet.

Floating way beyond the sun we know.

Buzzing with beings that only she knew.

Or a watery world beneath the sea.

Dark and beautiful.

Where Izobel had ridden seahorses as she snored.

So eventually.

I asked her,


Where have you been?

Where have you just come home from?

Izobel paused.


She replied.


Lockdown is hard.

Our points of reference are fewer.

Our worlds are smaller.

And whilst I am not worried for a second about Izobel’s racing imagination reigniting.

I do feel sorry for all children right now.

The lack of children playing with children.

The lack of pure childlike adventure.

And the simple, free-flowing ideas that only all-children environments can create.

Shaping stories.

Making magic.

Fuelling dreams.


It’ll not be long, now .

Until our children can once again chat and play with each other.

Spinning tales of palaces.


And watery worlds.

But until then.

Until we are back together once more.

Dreaming of ASDA will do.

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