Kibworth Beauchamp

http://youtu.be/K6VHXmwd0cs

We were sitting on the mat. Tiniest of rugs. We would squeeze ourselves and, as every children of our age after realizing such an act of extreme precision and complexity, be very proud of holding all together on such a small surface. We would laugh at the fun faces the adults made when seeing us like that. They couldn't understand. We were happy. They couldn't understand. We would tell each other secrets and stories and lies. As long as we could make each other laugh or scream. The idea was also to make sure the youngest of us would make nightmares. That seemed funny enough. The babies and their nightmares. The old ones and their funny faces. Us. In the middle. Squeezed together on a mat. Eating crumpets, Digestive Biscuits. Scones. Food and tea, the only thing that could make us stop our games. The smell of tea and the moment the music started and the idea of being with the adults, sharing the same food and drink while listening to the same music.

Bliss. When you know nothing more than the size of a mat and the name of all the biscuits in the larder.