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Was most interested to stumble upon article Lego X-wing fighter touches down in New York’s Times Square. Not that i am an enthusiast of The Star Wars franchise, you understand – and believe me, for someone who works in the IT industry this is tantamount to a cardinal sin. My fellow programmers treat me like a vegetarian butcher. But no, more that Lego holds such special childhood memories of playing with fire engines and quaint villages on the living room carpet. Though for me, it also invokes an altogether darker episode…

Many years ago, the children in my primary school were asked to bring in their Lego bricks, so that the class could collaborate in producing a replica of the old Victorian building in which we were taught, out on the playing grounds. However, as is always the case, the teachers went mad with power. What started as a scale 1:100 quickly contracted. No sooner had we finished a gymnasium that we could actually walk inside, we were instructed to smash it down and rebuild it twice as big. Notes were placed into our satchels, asking our parents to fork out for more bricks.

The final straw came when Year 5 worked through the night to construct a staffroom the size of a football pitch (the dimensions of which i can vouch for, as it was assembled over the actual sports grasses). The room was lavishly decorated with multicolour plastic decanters filled with fine Scotch whiskey, and huge copies of The Guardian, with the headlines punched out using single width pieces. The next day, all the students were ordered to scrub the knobbly Lego floors, whilst the catering staff were sent to cramped basement kitchens where the equipment was in danger of melting. Finally, the PE teacher had enough and blew his whistle, and we were relocated to a neighbouring school.

Still, it was many years ago – and i’m not one to hold a grudge. Yes, i’m talking to you, Miss Nicolson.


The pupils were forced to wear stock Lego garments, whilst the teachers paraded about in soldier and fireman costumes.