When I was about 4 years old one of my older brothers passed his driving text. There was some gravel-covered wasteland next to our house and he wanted to put his clapped out old mini through its paces - so I was brought along to accompany him on his quest.

The passenger door didn't close, so he told me to hold it shut. Now, I was a slip of a thing - much smaller than the average 4 year old, so I held on for dear life as he practised wheel spins and hand-brake turns. I can still see the clouds of dust in my mind's eye and hear the revving of the engine.

Within the adrenaline-fuelled excitement, my brother paused and looked over to his left in horror only to realise that I was no longer there. In the blink of an eye my little arms gave out and the next thing I know is that I've been propelled from the car and am tumbling along the ground like a rag doll. 

My brother stopped the car and ran up to me pleading 'don't tell mum, don't tell mum'. This is the moment in a cartoon where birds fly around the head of a dizzy and dazed looking character. 

He took me to the sweet shop and bought me a tube of smarties to guarantee my silence.

When I think back to moments like this from my childhood - I wonder how I am still in one piece. I laugh at the shenanigans my siblings and I got up to and shake my head at the madness of it all.

I feel as though I'm the human equivalent of a weeble toy and the words from that advert are the theme tune to my life  'weebles wobble, but they don't fall down'. 

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