We are not alone...

Oh the joys of modern technology. I'm writing this on my phone whilst sitting in what can loosely be described as the “Green Room” at Sylvia Young’s Theatre school. For those that don't know, Green Rooms are typically well kitted out luxury places where celebs chill out after/before an appearance. Bollinger is usually free flowing and little canapés are placed within easy reach of the peckish.

Not this one.

The only reason that this has a right to be called the “Green Room” is because it is actually green. The shiny walls have been decorated in two tones: bile and bogey. The plastic furniture is green and looks like Del Boy and Rodders sold them a job lot from a now dismantled BR station - perhaps Staines. Everything is bolted to the floor and Bolinger is replaced by oversweet tea, canapés by hot dogs and cheese toasties.

Anyway, now the scene is set, I wanted to talk about imaginary friends. On the way here this morning, mini-me informed me that we were not alone in the car. To say this unnerved me is a mild understatement. I have always had an unfounded belief that through the eyes of innocence, children “see” a lot more than adults. By the time you reach your teens, you brain has been infected by the paradigms of others and so you lose the ability to see the world as it actually is.

Today, my traveling companions were Emma and Molly who are apparently mini-me’s sisters. Molly was sitting next to me in the passenger seat (there was no car seat available for her Officer) and Emma was in the back (again on a normal seat). Having waved my hand around in the front seat to satisfy myself that there was nothing tangible there, I asked my daughter to explain what Molly looked like.

She then proceeded to describe a small child, down to the last detail including her hair colour, the colour of her eyes, what she was wearing etc etc. I was also informed that Molly was pregnant, was four years old and had recently returned from a holiday in Africa where she is at school with her Mummy and Daddy. Emma was given an equally detailed description although she was tired from playing football that morning. This gave rise to a number of questions:

Why weren’t Molly’s parents keeping a closer eye on their daughter?
If she was in the car with me, where were they?
Had she flown back from “Africa” by herself?
Had Emma won her football match?

I spoke to another father about this and he says his daughter regularly has in depth conversations with her “special” friend on the telephone – sometimes for up to 15 mins! Thinking back to my childhood, the only imaginary friend that I had was more of an enemy dreamt up by my Grandmother. I think he was called Michael, he lived in my bedroom and whenever I didn’t behave then Granny gave him all my sweets and presents. Little ba****d.