Bricks hurt, let me tell you. I've tripped over, stepped on and knocked into all sorts in my time. Accident prone, that’s me. It gets worse when you have kids, and I'm not talking cuddly toys; I'm talking Matchbox cars, scooters and train sets.
I digress. Back to subject. Bricks hurt. A lot.
I glance at dad, still busy building our new brick barbecue, oblivious to my pain. “Come on,” he’d said. “Help me. Escape the kids for a while.”
Lego. Great for kids, keeps them amused. Hell when you step bare-footed on one of those plastic knobbly bricks.