Ours is the house where stalks of rhubarb double as swords and saucepan lids as shields.
Ours is the house where chicken drumsticks are held by the bone to be eaten the way knights do at a feast.
Ours is the house where a pram is a battering ram and a baby becomes Sir Baby the Knight.
Ours is the house where a soother clip is used as a mace.
Ours is the house where the big boys are storm troopers and the baby is Darth Baby.
Ours is the house where every surface is strewn with Lego and hoovering is a tricky business.
Ours is the house where the bath get used as much for sailing pirate ships as it does for bathing grubby boys.
Ours is the house where wedges of tomato become viking ships with cucumber sails.
Ours is the house where bedtime stories of dragons, knights and sea monsters get made up and told in gory detail.
Ours is the house where stones and shells are kept like treasures in little boxes.
Ours is the house where imaginations run wild.
Ours is the house where three boys live.
