Running barefoot through the grass. Few things symbolise the freedom and joy of childhood more than barefoot play. In modern society there are so few opportunities for kids to go barefoot, but any chance they get most kids will be stripping off their shoes and socks and emancipating their tiny toes. Freedom!

Last summer Larry got a splinter on the sole of his foot. There was no way he was going to let me poke about with a pair of tweezers, so we set off to see our GP. I am paranoid about splinters ever since meeting a student who had his finger amputated after a splinter got infected. The GP assures me I have no need to worry and gives me some magic plaster called duoderm. It proves miraculous at slowly sucking the splinter out without any pain for Larry.

This summer I’m being more cautious, but it’s a hot day and both boys have ripped their sandals off – they’re not having it any other way. So we’re running around the park barefoot, exploring the feel of the different surfaces under our toes. The bark clippings feel “crunchy and knobbly” says Larry, while little Joe pours them over his toes, laughing. The metal of the roundabout is “shivery”, the sand in the play park is “warm and sinky”, and the grass is “soft and tickly”.

Before long Larry has befriended two older boys and they’re all running around playing barefoot hide and seek. Larry scoots up a tree to hide, bare feet dangling in the breeze. Little Joe is attempting an ascent up the lower branches and manages to find a little perch for his bum on the second branch.

It’s idyllic – watching barefoot children clambering up trees, then running, chasing and squealing across the grass. It’s the way childhood should be – carefree, simple, joyous, adventurous. It’s exactly how children must have played since the dawn of humanity. It is, sadly, all too rare these days.

I love watching their little bare feet scampering across the grass, clambering up logs, sinking in the sand. I love seeing the smooth, soft flesh against the rough gnarled bark of the tree. I love hearing their laughter ripple across the grass and through the leaves. These are moments to be cherished. All too soon those little soft feet will be big hairy, smelly teenage feet, and they’ll be running away from me, not towards me.

It’s time to cycle back home and I have a hard time persuading little Joe to put his sandals back on. He’s had a taste of freedom and isn’t relinquishing it without a fight. I’m glad – resistance is good. He’s open to negotiation though and we’re soon heading home with bike handle in one hand and an oatcake in the other.

It’s then that I notice a twinge in my foot – splinter! Argh! Both boys are happily splinter-free. Now where are the tweezers?