The imagination of a six year old knows no boundaries. A couple of examples to support this sweeping statement, perhaps? Friday lunchtime. Titus is eating pumpkin soup (homemade, pumpkin imported from another continent). He tires of the conventional method and leans over his bowl. He starts to lap up the soup with his tongue. I think of admonishing him but decide not to, as it is actually quite an amusing spectacle. I ask him why he has his hands on the sides of his head. He looks perplexed - isn't it obvious? I'm a spaniel with long silky ears, he says, and I have to keep them out of the way.
Later on we arrive back from judo class in driving rain. It is so wet that we don't rush to get out of the car. We stay sitting for a while in the warmth. Titus starts to ponder on how life as a homeless person would be. I tell him that some people really do live in cars. This strikes him as an extremely appealing prospect. I get bored of the roleplay and get out. Come on, I say. But he wants me to leave him there, so he can 'pretend to be a sad homeless person who lives in a car'. Half an hour later I remember him, look out of the window, and see him in the driving seat, happily twiddling levers and buttons and making engine noises with his mouth (I can't hear this, but I'm good at lipreading). He announces that he'd be happy to live in a car - the experiment was a success - but he'd make sure to park it outside flats and houses of generous relations, so he'd always have enough to eat and be allowed to use their bathroom.
Friends and relatives, if you see a suspicious vehicle in front of your property in years to come, don't call the police. It'll be Titus, about to come and ask for a jacket potato and a quick shower.
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