I remember Harold when he was six. The park had a sandpit then. Those were the days before EU regulations decreed that sand has to be sterilised before any use involving those not wearing regulation safety gear.
Playing in used sand never hurt Harold. His sand castles, facilitated by the application of several buckets of water into the sand before he started, were the envy of all the other children; most of whom had never even heard of the History Channel.
This went on until someone replaced his model of Tintagel with a mud pie. He never made another after that, not after he’d been trying to effect the reconstruction with the mud only to discover that it had been left him not, as he’d thought, by a kindly benefactor but by an off-the-leash St. Bernard.