It was a tall order for my poor legs

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David Curwen, centre, hugs his mother with whom he wa sreunited. Completing the group is his brother Keith

THIS WEEK IN 1975: Reunited after 30 years – but only thanks to a kind stranger

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In all my 30 long years on this great planet Earth, I have been a resident of Portsmouth.

I was born in this historic city, I took my first steps in the city, I went to school in the city, I passed my driving test in the city and both my daughters were born in the city.

If you cut me open I would bleed Portsmouth.

So you’d think I would have seen, done and experienced everything here, and I thought I had.

But recently I was driving along Southsea seafront and I was at the bit where a look to my right will reveal the beautiful Isle of Wight in the distance and a glance to my left will reveal Canoe Lake with its big white swan boats, and I saw something I’d never visited before.

The attraction I spotted was Southsea Model Village. I’m not sure when it was built but I always remember it being there and have driven past it hundreds of times.

With reviews online generally good, a visit with my daughters has been planned soon.

I’m sure they’ll enjoy feeling like giants as they peek inside the miniature houses.

But recently it was me that felt like the giant. My three-year-old daughter Alyssa starts pre-school in September and we were invited to a parents’ evening to have a look around and meet the people who will be looking after and educating our second-born for a few hours each day.

As soon as we entered, it instantly felt like a place where little people spend a lot of time.

There were paintings stuck on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. It was hard to work out what each painting was supposed to be as they looked like splodges of colour.

But they were, nevertheless, paintings that would make any parent proud and were no doubt destined for the front of the fridge where they would be held in place by a magnet and displayed with pride.

Looking around the pre-school, there were different sections for the children including a book area, a creative area, an outside area and a construction area.

But the part that made it obvious this was a world for little people was the table and chairs.

They were tiny and yes, you guessed it, I had to sit my six foot-plus long body in one of these small, made for a four-year-old chairs.

As we were being spoken to by a member of staff, I could sense that my legs, bent underneath a table not designed for men in their 30s, were losing all feeling.

I was sure my joints had fused together and I would require assistance to get back up, but luckily I man