We’re jumping into a pile of leaves under the big conker tree at the corner of the playground; me and a handful of dots. The colours glow in the late afternoon sun and, once we’ve finished jumping, me and the dots, we start to choose our favourite leaves. We run our fingers over the veins, the shape, the edges. We compare colours, textures, smell. It’s a rather magical way to spend time on an October afternoon. And I’m being paid for it!
Then a dot looks at me. “Why is your hand shaking like that?” she asks.
“Yes, why is it?” asks another. Now all the dots have stopped and are waiting for an explanation. Somehow, my cover story – freak Ocado delivery; bitten by radioactive jelly; morphed into Jellywoman; special powers, squeezing under doors – seems just too darn complicated for the dots.
“It’s dancing,” I say.
The dots think about this for a second, then nod. And we all start doing the hokey cokey on the pile of leaves.
So that’s all right.