I was walking along Market Road, off Caledonian Rd, last week when I happened upon this sign outside Hayward Adventure Playground.
The statement that the statement that there are 12 Adventure Playgrounds
(with initial caps) in Islington no longer holds totally true. There might be 12 sites
but not many of them are functioning playgrounds at the moment. In fact, Hayward itself is undergoing a revamp.
And at the award-winning Martin Luther Adventure Playground opposite Freightliners Farm
at Paradise Park, N7, is as I write this just a bull-dozed empty site. This saddens me because up until about six months ago I noticed that almost every time I went past it there were lots of children making really good use of the facilities there. Not like at some other similar sites where I have never witnessed any movement apart form pigeons, namely Spa Green, near Exmouth Mkt, and Barnard Park off Copenhagen Street.
I think kids are being protected a little too much these days. God forbid the poor things might fall and hurt themselves and learn a valuable lesson about balance and gravity in the process.
It's all health and safety gone mad – remove the possible causes of pain. Rip it all up, put in some bouncy rubber floors (recycled I hope) and have round padded corners everywhere. Be careful darling. Be careful. No, don't climb that tree. It's dangerous.
And when was the last time you saw a kid with scabby knees or covered in plasters? OK so kids don't wear shorts or carry catapults and penknives anymore, but perhaps they should. Possibly the first time they pick up something sharp is when they join a gang. I am flippantly suggesting this because I see many kids can't even use cutlery properly these days; they use forks as spoons and have no idea how to hold a knife – it's elbows and shovels.
How are kids supposed to learn life skills? They aren't gonna be magically ready for the big bad world when when they leave school. This is why we've now got so many people in their mid-20s still being treated like and behaving like babies – get Dad to do everything. But what's gonna happen when theses kids finally have kids of their own?
I so fondly recall as a child getting big knee and elbow scabs – the trophy scars of the playground – then picking at those scabs and lifting the harden crusts like lids to see if they'd bleed or come off cleanly – and did anyone else enjoy sewing their fingers together with needle and cotton through the top layer of skin resulting in little white dead channels once the thread was removed. Ah, happy days... where are my ker-knockers