When I was 12 years old I really wanted a remote control car.
I mean, I really wanted a remote control car. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than a remote control car. Life without a remote control car seemed pointless, how could I possibly have fun without a remote control car. What was the point of doing Anything, especially keeping my bedroom tidy, if I didn't even have a remote control car.
Christmas was aaaaaages away. I went on and on and on about wanting a remote control car. I would go through the pages of the Argos catalog again and again reading the descriptions of what they could do, what scale they were, how fast they went.
Each day as Christmas drew near was more unbearable than the last. I got louder and louder in my expressions of quite how badly I wanted a remote control car. There was no way that anybody in the house couldn't know, just what it was that I wanted . . . . a remote control car.
The few remaining days before Christmas were unbearable. Would my parents have got the hint, would this just be the best Christmas in the whole wide world ever-for-anybody-for-all-time?!
On Christmas day I unwrapped a remote control car. It was a monster truck. It has massive rubber wheels, fake spot lights on the roof and two speeds; Normal and Turbo!!
I didn't know how it could be possible to be any happier. I was joy incarnate. Nothing in the world seemed important compared to this awesome gift I had just been given. My other presents could wait, they were insignificant.
20 minutes later the batteries had died.
Nothing changes when you grow up.
Everything just gets bigger.