My intergenerational journey

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It started with chicken wings. Plastic chicken wings, to be precise. They were my favourite toy at the church’s toddler group, and by far the finest item in the toy kitchen. Much to the group leader’s amusement, I would run manically around the church hall with my friend Richard each week, firing imaginary bullets from these perfectly proportionate pieces of plastic poultry as if the world was about to end, and we had been chosen to save it.

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