Life Should Be Fun, So Let Children Play

Years ago, my mum wrote a letter to a national newspaper.

A family had been fined for hosting a loud children’s party in their garden. Neighbours complained. It escalated. It made the news. And my mum? Well, she was outraged. Her response was simple: the sound of children playing should be something we celebrate.

What an almighty privilege, she wrote, to have a garden full of children enjoying life.

That memory came straight back to me at a childcare conference I attended this week.

One of the speakers, Ben, talked about something he called the “laugh-scream” that incredible, unmistakable sound children make when they are right on the edge of fear and joy at the same time. You know the one. That burst of noise that is pure and unfiltered.

And I thought, yes. That.

(And just to be clear, I’m not suggesting we all start laugh-screaming in our gardens… I am a big fan of being neighbourly.)

But, that sound, that play, that advocation for children playing, where is that happening in 2026?

At Latch, we often say we are “sharing movement in playful spaces.”

But even that feels too neat sometimes.

Because the truth is, what we do doesn’t sit in one box, unless it’s a massive empty brown box that we can turn into a ship, castle or house, obviously!

But honestly, one week our sessions might be deeply creative, building stories from materials, using books to inspire choreography, following children’s ideas wherever they lead.

In another space, like our 2 year+ room in Newtown, I might simply lay out materials, play some music, and let the session unfold. That session from the outside definately doesn’t ‘look’ too much like dancing (The big bag of mixed materials? Yea, pretty magical).

And then if you walked into one of my adult classes, you’d see something completely different again, super structured, copy-and-follow, commercial, music-video energy.

Sometimes it looks like PE.
Sometimes it looks like theatre.
Sometimes we’re dramatically re-enacting what happens to a glue stick when you leave the lid off… to classical music. (Yes, really.)

All of it counts.

Because playful isn’t a style, it’s an approach.
It’s a willingness to explore, to adapt, to respond.
No two sessions look the same, and I will protect that culture with everything I’ve got.

On Friday, I stood on a stage in front of over 200 early years professionals, absolute angels, every single one of them, and led a 15-minute movement session to start the day.

I used the same approaches I use across all ages. Movement that supports the body’s internal systems, but feels joyful. Accessible. Human.

We began with gentle touch, massage, stretching.
We reset the nervous system (to Harry Belafonte, obviously, who else could even do that right?).
And then we moved into scarf play, to an orchestral version of A Sky Full of Stars.

The only invitation I gave was to pass the scarf around.

That was it.

And then…..
people were standing on chairs,
one table turned their scarves into a parachute,
and somehow, beautifully, organically…

a conga started.

An unplanned, unprompted, completely joyful conga that wove its way through the room, growing as it went.

And, well I can’t think of anything more human, more connected, more unified than an actual flash mob conga that no-one knew about until it was happening.

In that moment, I realised, I was advocating in the most perfect way.

For children.
For movement.
For play.

For that version of childhood where running isn’t something to be stopped at every turn.

Because if I’m honest, I find it really hard to tell a child to stop running.

Of course I want children to be safe.
Of course I want them to grow into thoughtful, respectful humans and not run around causing chaos when they’re adults.

But also…

how lush is it to be seven?
To feel your feet pounding the ground, the air on your face, that burst of adrenaline as you run, for no reason other than the joy of it?

To race someone.
To get to the door first.
To just… go.

I want children to have that.
I want them to move.

There’s something powerful about hearing someone speak out loud the things you already believe.

The science.
The research.
The validation.

It doesn’t give you new knowledge, it gives you fire.

Friday did that for me.

Because yes, we can point fingers. I do it too.
Screens. Austerity. Systems. Bad advice. Blippi. Covid.

But at the same time, I am in it.
In studios. In village halls. In libraries. In classrooms.
With children. With families.

And I remember.

I was once asked what I wanted my work to do.
And I just cried, cringe bomb.

Because the answer was so simple:
I want to advocate for the next generation.

The speakers at this conference were some of the best I’ve experienced. Honest, informed, and grounded in actual reality.

And it reminded me of something I say to my school class all the time:

One small act can change a person’s day.
That day can change another.
And another.

Small acts ripple.

Small acts matter.

Small acts can change the world.

So that’s what I’m taking into this new term.

With my best foot forward.

I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep advocating.
I’ll keep creating spaces where children can move, explore, and play.

Because life should be fun, so let children play.