I don't very often get angry, but this time I WAS FURIOUS! Completely enraged by the injustice of it all. I had never been in a race before. Having not yet started school, I had not experienced the joys of Sports - Day. The concept of competitiveness hadn't entered my life.

On this particular day, there must have been some kind of Fete going on in the Village, because there were races, and Donkey - Rides , toffee - apples and candy - floss. I know that I was very small, because my Mother was actually looking after me. We were walking hand - in - hand around the field, taking in the sights, when we stopped to watch a running race. I asked if I could have a go, and duly took my place at the starting line.

As the whistle blew, I launched myself into the race, running as fast as my little legs could carry me. I was in the lead, and I ran and I ran, and I was first to reach the finish line.
Then there was a lot of cheering and congratulating, and I stood proudly at the finish line. And then prizes were awarded, and there was nothing for me! My eyes started to sting, and as my Mother took my hand, I started to cry,

" It's not fair, I won, I won." My Mother dragged me away. I wouldn't stop crying. It was so unfair. Nobody had ever told me that you had to run through the tape. If I said, " I'll race you to that lamp - post," you wouldn't run through the lamp - post, would you ? Or from here to that tree, would you run through the tree ? People need to be told these things.
 

I would say I was inconsolable, but no - one had tried to console me. I was just crying angry tears, and I wasn't going to stop.
But my Mother offered no comfort or consolation. I was adamant that I had been wronged, and I was in a rage. " You little beesum!* " she said. " Now just behave yourself." I didn't think I was a beesum*,though I didn't know what one was. I just thought I was misunderstood. I had been cheated, and I would not behave.
" You're a little madam. Now you can go to your room and stay there."

She dragged me back to the house, and shoved me into this room, and all I could do was stare at the wall. It didn't seem to be my bedroom. There was nothing comforting or familiar, and nothing to distract me. I think I was in such a fit of rage that I lost all sense of reality.
 

I didn't sit on the bed or do anything there. I just stared at the wall. Stared at the wallpaper, at the little peeley bit where the join had come unstuck. I became  lost in the wallpaper, and started to pick at the little tear, until there was a little flap, just a little triangle that was peeling away. It became quite satisfying as it began to come off in a thick layer, as it clearly wasn't glued on very securely. I didn't have any sense of naughtiness as I did this. I was just in a blind rage, and buzzing with so much adrenaline that I didn't know what to do with it. So I worked at this piece of wallpaper, and it went from being just a small flap  the size of a dogs ear, to being an enormous rip that went right down to the skirting board. I think I might have written something naughty under the flap.
 

When it was finished, I felt better. I felt all the tension drain away, and I didn't care anymore. I sound like a small psychopath, but honestly I was so angry, I had scared myself. I can't recall what the repercussions of this were. though I'm sure I was definitely in the doghouse. But to me it felt like justice.

* My Mother said a besom was a witches broom, but I think it might just have been her prim way of using a B word on us.