As a young and impressionable kitten, I was always ready to look up to my older brother, Second Last, who had an affinity with fireworks for some reason. He hadn’t even been dropped on his head as a baby.
What merry japes we enjoyed under the old weatherboard Queenslander (actually it was just a mining house from Mt Morgan, transported down the hill and set up in a flood zone – luckily it was eight feet off the ground). Second would get out all of our toy soldiers and Matchbox cars and build a wooden fort (with removable roof) in which to house them. Yes, he could do wonders with a few rudimentary tools and no opposing thumb and forefinger – a genius at work, though admittedly the tail played a role.
Finally, he’d tell me to hide behind the nearest stump while he lit up a few lines of Tom Thumbs and a Penny Bomb or two before removing the removable roof and pegging them in there with the soldiers and cars. Needless to say, our dear and long-suffering mother, Mrs On Mars, would hear the robust and playful commotion beneath the house and run down to warn us, yet again, that one day one or both of us would lose an eye, or an ear, or paw, or toe, or tail – well, you get the picture. And that was just going to be from dear Mother’s emphatic attentions. Fortunately, we never did (lose any bits – she loved us, really), and everyone lived happily ever after – boom, boom!!!
Speaking of which, here’s the original I Don’t Like Mondays from the Boomtown Rats when they were very, very young.