Six year old have all the best words. It’s a fact.
I reckon there should be a dictionary compiled only by children, and this should be studied by everyone over the age of 35. The world would be a better place for it, seriously.
Yesterday, my youngest son saw a plane in the sky and pointed, saying; “Look dad, a Jumble Jet!”
They talk about going to a Pantomine (which conjours images of exploding dames in our cynical adult minds), complain about having to wear a Cycle Hemlet and boast they can do the Best Stroke for a width of the pool. Six year olds have a magical language all of their own, born from that wonderful mixture of an overactive mind, a tongue too big for their mouths and a talent for selective hearing.
It just doesn’t get better than being six. Six is the perfect age.
Oh to be six again, eh?