One of my now eight-year-old’s artistic triumphs was a robot he built in pre-school.
He was three at the time and as I arrived to pick him up – batting away the wafting scent of Pinoclean and urine that seems to greet you each afternoon – he stood there proudly displaying what would in hindsight prove to be a high point in his artistic career.
It was a robot only around 30cm high but carefully put together with tampon boxes some diligent pre-school mum had donated. Each month she collected up all her empty tampon boxes and when she had enough to donate them to the pre-school craft corner there she had deposited them in the large box overflowing with empty-toilet roll holders, yoghurt containers and egg and milk cartons. My son, drawn to the brightly coloured floral design on the small cardboard boxes had seen what many others had not seen.
Not rubbish. But robot legs.