TALKING of below-tray-height-manoeuvres, I remember as a child being dispatched by my harassed mum to go find a table.
My brother and I would wander the formica-clad cafeterias, ready to spring into action. We were in direct competition with the other diminutive seat-hunters out there. Trust me, it was like Lord of the Rings, with no quarter given.
Once, when beaten to the prize by a swift moving brother and sister act from Paisley, I hit on the idea of pinching my wee brother really hard, so he started screaming the place down. The Paisley mum assumed her boy had bopped my brother, huckled the pair away and we got the seat. Win-win for me. Mission accomplished, secured seating, and got to pinch my wee brother.
My conscience was clear about the other pair. The fact that his mother just assumed the guilt of her wee rascal clearly pointed to a child already destined for a life of crime.