Back in the days before I had a child, when I had a functional brain instead, one of my hobbies was reading about history. The history of the English Royal Family in particular, but I was interested in other key events. I forget which gift shop of which site of historical interest it was in which I found a copy of the Magna Carta, but it seemed like a pretty cool thing to own and so I bought it. So if anyone wants to know what grazing rights you’d have in England, or anything like that, then now you know who to ask.
The copy I have is rolled up, together with the translation, in a black holder with red ends and ‘Magna Carta 1216’ embossed on it in shiny gold letters. Very interesting-looking to toddlers.
Which is why Barry, after telling Jamie that, no, he couldn’t come into the kitchen when Daddy was cooking lunch, was greeted a few minutes later by Jamie turning up at the kitchen door brandishing a copy of the Magna Carta. We’d always expected that our son would be the sort to stand up for his rights when thwarted, but we hadn’t expected him to start quite so thoroughly and so young. Any despot monarchs around are clearly going to have to watch their step.