I have many memories from childhood. Some good, some I’ve modified to make good and some why-the-hell-do-I-even-remember-that?? Here is one of the latter.

It was the day I first learned to spell the word ‘Blood’.  It was evening, we were in the village and I was playing around outside in blue underpants.  I fear I may not have been wearing a shirt.  I watched in wonder as the lady who took care of me wrote the word in the sand.  No, she wasn’t a village witch, I had actually asked her how the word was spelt. 

I looked on as she spelled the word and in all of my 6 year old wisdom couldn’t for the life of me comprehend why a word pronounced that way was spelled with a double O.  What insanity was this? I thought, nay, I knew for a fact that double Os belonged in words pronounced like ‘hook’ and ‘cook’, you know?  Well, what the hell did she know?  I went in and waited patiently for Daddy to come home, he would fix this like he fixed everything else, he would return sanity to the world.  Alas, when he returned he confirmed my worst fears, everything I had ever learned was a lie.

A few weeks later, back in school during inter-house sports, I needed to write the words ‘Red House’ on my badge.  I froze.  I had no problem with the word ‘House’, it was complicated, they didn’t mess around with complicated words.  It was ‘Red’ that bothered me, it looked too easy, and after my encounter with ‘Blood’ I knew it was on the easy ones they got you.  But no, they weren’t going to get me, not this time.  After a period of careful contemplation I picked up a red pen, drew a house on my badge and carefully coloured it in. 
“Since the hunter has learned to shoot without missing…”


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