Our daughter Arianrhod ferch Saisladdwr was happily hunting down imaginary guinea pigs on her rocking horse this afternoon. I paused from filing my eyelashes to place No Good Boyo's next, artfully crafted web blog entry just out of her reach. She immediately dismounted like a lady and stomped over to fold the tattered sheaf into an "airy plane", which she then guided into the comforting flames of the hearth.
This establishes that what Bakunin called "Die Lust der Zerstörung" trumps sloth among the young.
Later, I placed a pie on No Good Boyo's chest, tuned the television to Lark Rise to Candleford, moved the remote control just out of reach and retired to my bower, amused by the alternating sounds of chomping and weeping.
This gives hope to us all who seek to build a new, but not necessarily better, world.