Tongue in Cheek. But Whose Cheek?

Left School distinctly early today to have my follow-up appointment at Calamity Clinic. I have a sicknote for another week for my finger injury, although my prognosis has been upgraded to 'Alive'.
I was not much good at sewing my sails on our catamaran, I lost time and patches, and dropped stitches.
Ben and I had a Klash-Of-Klans sportsman's bet over whether you had to wait until you had a Level 6 Pogo Stick before you could enchant your Telephone Box, but as with all the best boys' arguments, we'd forgotten what we'd declared by the time we got home.
In the park the council workmen had fenced off our bench! We could see they'd painted it red again, possibly because of one graffitied rude word too many, which is fair enough I suppose.
But they'd also fenced the entire climbing frame which did not appear to have any work done on it at all, even though it had signs saying keep off dangerous structure. Once they took away the curly yellow slide for a year!
So we based ourselves by the tree in the sun and played tag-ball again. Nearby, some teenagers were playing How-much-can-I-investigate-under-her-top-before-anyone-notices, which wasn't much but they kept trying anyway.
Baby Edward (I remember him as a bump, but now he's a lump, at school) and his diminutive female companion 'played cats' which is what their mummies called it, as long as it's 2 cats trying to make kittens, rampantly.
But with 5 year-olds it's just funny. So we all did 'Dog-piling' which can often get boisterous for we are not little people any more. Well, it was nearly 2 hours of clean (apart from all the dirtiness) healthy fun in the sun.
Later I operated on my left hand using my damaged right hand, trying to get a splinter out with an old dissection kit from Buds' Biology 'A' Levels.