Lamby
When I was very young, I had a favourite toy, a cuddly lamb called "Lamby". It was more than a toy, it was my best friend and companion and would go with me everywhere. As a consequence of being owned by a very active male child in the late 60s/early 70s, Lamby wasn't the most hygenic of playthings, he also had a neck like a giraffe as that is how I used to carry him ie by the neck. I remember one day (very hazy memories as I must've been about 3 years old at the time and my grey cells aren't what they used to be) mother had managed to pry the mangy, filth encrusted toy from my grip and tossed him into the washing machine. I spent the next 2 hours inconsolable as Lamby had his annual bath. Peace prevailed when I was reunited with a newly cleaned Lamby. This went on for what I thought was years, but I am sure it couldn't have been for more than a couple of years, until one day Lamby didn't return, and my mum said he was lost. I mourned the death of Lamby for a long long time and it wasn't until years later, when my mum owned up to finally chucking out my beloved lamby as he was starting to stink and that no amount of washing would ever get him clean. I still miss him now. I am 43.
(urgle-splurgle molesting small goats since, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 9:38, Reply)