It has been a long time since I've had my pigtails pulled, or been punched in the stomach by a boy I liked after stealing his soccer ball. No one has run off and told my mum when I used a word I shouldn't have recently, and I haven't had to make up lies about my big brother to save my own hide for absolutely ages.
That's why I quite like elections. The juvenile sniping, the exaggerated tittle-tattling, the side-swipes, the low-blows, the character assassinations and the promises for prosperity that have about as much substance as playing make-believe at the bottom of the garden all remind me of the best moments of being a kid.
It doesn't take a well-versed political analyst to observe that electioneering is two parts acting like a 10-year-old to one part leading the nation.
I'll confess to being in that category of voters who is a little too preoccupied running a small business, paying a mortgage and juggling one-too-many of life's balls to be as fully informed about policy before next week's election as I could and should be.
But I read the odd newspaper, I watch the news and I wait to find out which party is offering what.