It’s not the Winning…

I collected Flea from school yesterday evening to find my daughter was wearing a medal round her neck. She looked – unsurprisingly – pretty pleased with herself. 

"Wow, what's that?" I asked. 

"It's a medal," Flea told me. "Because I won cross country and did two laps." 

"Flea, that's amazing, well done you," I told her, genuinely impressed – it's an 800m track round Flea's school field, so two laps makes quite a decent run for a little person. 

I must confess though, I was a little surprised because Flea is the smallest child in her class and has come last in every single Sports Day race I've ever watched her in. Even the Egg and Spoon race, due to a last-minute fumble and an appreciation of the rules that was not shared by most of her classmates, it has to be said. 


Flea was obviously very pleased with herself, and we walked together out of the school towards our car. She was telling me all about the cross country route, and how she fell into not one, but two puddles of mud. 

"So," I said. "You won the race even though you fell over twice. That's brilliant.

"Yes, I won! But Darcy came first." 

Hmm. "How did Darcy come first if you won? Were you in a team?"


I think for a moment. "Did you come second?"


I give up. "So where did you come?"

Flea stops walking, thinking hard. "Oh, hang on," she said. "What's it called when there are 15 people and you come 15th?"

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