Cycling back from the pub this evening, early enough in the evening that there was still light in the sky (but still late enough in the summer that I had to have the dynamo on for the first time since about April), it was heartening to note that – in the right parts of Bigtown at least (by which I mean the wrong parts of Bigtown more generally speaking) – kids are still perfectly free range. There were kids on bikes, kids on scooters, kids kicking footballs, kids kicking their younger siblings and even kids sitting on the bollards in the middle of the traffic islands (this latter was a bit worrying as some of the bollards further up the road have had to be replaced by the kind that don’t mind being run over).
Of course, you could equally have said that the streets were infested with feral kids who were out causing mayhem while their parents neglected their well-being, safety, and proper regard for bedtimes, but I reckon it’s all a question of terminology: our children are free range; those people’s kids are feral. But I think that if we want our kids to have the freedom to play, then it’s not always going to be nice middle-class children decorously playing hopscotch (I seem to remember that when we were kids enjoying the fabled freedoms of the 70s, setting fire to things did feature quite heavily although admittedly mostly bonfires rather than, say, cars); we have to be just as delighted to see shaven headed little tykes sitting on traffic bollards, although hopefully without any of the local boy racers coming too fast round a bend.
And besides, it’s nice to discover that there’s still one aspect of childhood where it’s the poor kids wot get all the pleasure, while the rich ones are stuck at home, probably conjugating French verbs or doing something equally improving. They may be getting even more of a head start in life than they had already, but they won’t be having anything like as much fun.
In other news, a sunset. Depressingly, it was before nine. Where did the summer go?