When all the world is young lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.
When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
When all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home, and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.
Ro-Ro turned eight a few weeks ago. He and his Dad slicked the toxic pink icing on an over-cooked marble cake and stuck on some motley, used candles from the cupboard. Poor lad! Still, look at those adoring sisters. Adequate compensation especially when Charly played "happy birthday to you' on the piano and we all joined in in four-part harmony. Note also the ball he is clutching. A gift from a school buddy. An eyeball is suspended in the middle and it glows and flashes when bounced*. Just what every eight year old boy craves. Perfectly compact and ghoulish. Other 'awesome' gifts included a multi-function pocket knife with pliers, screwdrivers and other essential tools for ... whittling sticks, say, rather than doing damage to persons or property, and a door hanger intruder alert. The latter is an ideal accessory when you have a glow-in-the-dark eyeball that everyone else wants to play with.
*The glow factor, unfortunately, does not work under the bed clothes by hitting the ball on the mattress or against the pakm of your other hand, and thus, it cannot double as a torch for reading purposes or a micro-disco ball. We tried.