This is the story of the day I ran away from home. I did so trying to escape a sore bottom – but ended up not sitting comfortably for days afterwards.
I was 11 years old, and getting a bit stroppy, to be honest. Mum and I had had a flare-up just after lunch – I can’t really now remember the details, but it was an attitude problem, at least in Mum’s eyes. I was sent to my room, with the promise from Mum that she would be up to ‘deal’ with me later. I presumed that meant a dose of the dreaded slipper.