27 August 2006
I tried to run away once.
I didn't get very far.
I was two years old, and already it was becoming clear that patience didn't number among my many virtues.
We were due to go to my gran's house in a small village in the Borders (the Scottish side - just) and were due to set off just as soon as my dad got home from work. Something which, apparently, wasn't happening nearly fast enough for my two year old self.
So I decided I'd had enough and was going to go right this very minute.
Being the sensible child I was (even at two), I knew I had to pack, so into my little case went six pairs of knickers and six pairs of socks, and a book (for the journey), and off I went, ready to walk the 100 odd miles to my gran's house.
I got as far as the end of the road when mum caught up with me and brought me back home.
Was the book The Very Hungry Caterpillar?
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