Imagination is wasted on the young

Or is it? Today I was reminded just how vivid my imagination was when I was younger. Murder She Wrote came on whilst I was lying on the sofa attempting to get rid of the headache that has plagued me for the last few days and sparked my recollection of earlier memories when the same program was on the TV. I used to imagine that it was my mum in the role of Jessica Fletcher (sorry Angela Lansbury!) and equally so George Peppard was replaced by my Dad in the A Team. In my mini me’s defense I still think George Peppard looked like my Dad as Hannibal. I wish my imagination was anywhere near as good as it was back then, oh the world’s I would create! I need a mini me to be my sidekick whilst I sit at my desk and contemplate other worlds and other stories, to be my muse and tell me off if I am being too adult in my theories. “Of course a unicorn can tell off other animals they are much prettier than any lion.” And it would totally make sense coming out of their mouth than mine! So whilst I am debating social structure and religion, I’d leave mini me to write that fairies do exist and can be in charge if they wanted to but they are far too busy being fairies and I think their efforts would be more believable than my own. ‘out of the mouths of babes’ and all that. But there is no mini me to prompt me, I need to tap into that inner child that still lies within, so if you don’t mind I’m off to chat to a dragon about some suspicious arson attacks.