A bargain swap

Paul Morris

I'd never visited a castle before but we went, all of us, me and my big family to Culzean. I soon lost them and headed for the ramparts and there was the sea, angry with me, ramming the lower reaches of the walls below, dragged against its volition by a daytime, unseen moon. If you stood close to the edge there was no more castle, no more back there, no more me and my big family. There was out there.

And there was my purpose. As a boy, I never touched chocolate or sweets: instead I exchanged them for all manner of things. If you had two Mars bars and a Twix you were sought-after. Once the other kids had exhausted their stock of tooth massacre, they would sidle up to me and ask what I had in my pockets. I became the illicit owner of toy soldiers and cowboys-and-Indians that seemed too-melted in the manufacturing process, or the occasional kite, even sometimes an innocent-if-you-say-so peck on my quickly reddening cheeks from a girl whose sugar levels were out of control. ... (continues)