There was a bakelite light switch that you actually had to turn, not flick, on the left side of the attic stairs, which, when turned, would produce a solid click which I still, after all these years, imagine any button sometimes secretly makes at night, just for its own amusement.
So, yeah, it turns out the world of Platonic ideals is actually my grandparents’ house when I was six years old and it took a really long time to get there.
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