No headlines, just tantrums.

Nearing my 52nd birthday, in 2019, I reach a place from where I can look back half a century and remember happenings. None of it is headline grabbing, (or grabbed), material:

the arrival of a little sister, getting shoulder rides, and discovering deadly snakes at the bottom of slippery dips, are among the events of which I have slim, or tenuous, memories.

 One recollection that remains incisive, though, is being left to play with another little boy, in my parents' lounge.

 While the pink and grey rose patterned carpets, and crepuscular light, seem likely to be true impressions, the "OUCH!", that came when his teeth clamped my wrist and skin, in a bite like an adjustable wrench, is a memory that still stings.

 So when I think back to 1969, I wonder who and where that little boy is now and, more importantly,

"Is he still biting people?"

More recent photo stolen from the Tumby Bay Council, South Australia, site.