Does anyone here remember laughter?

Having a child of my own has flooded my brain with hundreds of incongruous recollections from my own childhood and how different O's is likely to be. Here's one:

My best friend Nina had a huge, sprawling house that used to be the Lebanese Embassy. There were hundreds of rooms and even a secret, concealed bathroom that we loved hiding in. From age ten to thirteen, I practically lived there. I even used to sleep at her on school nights, something I now find slightly dodgy - why were my parents letting me sleep out on a school night? Was I that responsible a child that they weren't concerned I'd stay up all night and not be able to focus at school? Sadly, yes. But I digress. The memory that flooded me this morning as I awoke to a freezing Sydney winter with a dog on my face and a baby crying, was how Nina's nanny, Maggie, used to wake us on chilly South African mornings. She would come into the room singing our names in a low, deep, melodic voice that always seemed on the verge of a chuckle. Or tears. I forget which. Then she'd place two piping hot mugs of Milo down next to us. While we drank the Milo she'd bring us our school uniforms, which she'd already warmed on the heater. Yes, Maggie's own children were probably freezing their hungry arses off in a makeshift hut in a township while people outside were being brutally killed by the police, but, hell, that Milo tasted good.

Apartheid was tricky like that.