I’m happy to be part of the no-children generation

Asmall, but terrible tragedy was recorded this week. Only a fifth of children currently lay claim to an imaginary friend, down from 50 per cent in 2001, a loss that has been attributed to the constant hi-tech stimulation besieging young brains. After all, why bother creating fantasy pals, when one’s entire world appears virtual?

Among those nippers who continue to maintain the tradition, the peak ages for doing so are between three and seven. The most popular names for such characters are the stolid Jack, Ellie, Ben, Charlie and – of course – Bob. Just over half are human, the rest made up of sundry cats, dogs and the odd unicorn. These elusive muckers were found to be the perpetrators behind outrages such as messmaking, sibling-biffing and uneaten vegetables.

My house was populated by legions of more transient individuals, the guests of one or other of my brothers and sisters. My sister Victoria had Mr Wilkinson’s horses – although never Mr Wilkinson himself –

I had four siblings, so our house was populated by legions of transient beings

cantering about, reins frequently requiring to be held.

My brother George boasted a whole army of them, doubtless to outnumber his older sisters. Naturally, I scoffed at and satirised these characters. Yet, they were more alive to me than many of the so-called “real” people we were forced to spend time with, and 400,000 times more interesting, their machinations ingeniously and laboriously charted. Here were Pal, Madaise, Anorak, Be’ear and, chiefly, Fire Eater, alias Ralph Hill, who lived in a hut in Birmingham’s Lickey Hills – and, to my mind, at least – sported a lustrous raven beard.

Only my youngest sibling, Bim, appeared to lack such allies, or possessed them only in secret.

Perhaps, by then, our family was so massy with children, pets, and assorted hangers-on that there simply wasn’t space for them, or bandwidth to engage with anything other than the most pressing reality.

Poignantly, I’ve forgotten the name of the beloved comrade I once forced my parents to return to the park for, after they joked that we’d left him behind. Now, with no mother or father left to remind me, he too is no more.