When we were boys, my brother and I used to play at being superheroes. We’d climb up onto the bannister at the top of the stairs, and propel ourselves forward so that we’d be stretched diagonally across the bulkhead. Looking down, it felt like we were flying.
But one day, as I stood atop the bannister and threw myself forwards, I misjudged the distance. My tiny fingers fell short of the wall, and I tumbled head-first down the stairs. As I lay at the bottom in a crumpled heap I realised that I was not superman. I was in fact a six-year-old boy with a dressing gown wrapped around his shoulders and underpants on the outside of his trousers.
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