Growing up in the countryside and spending my childhood exploring the fields and pathways of my principality, I was frequently stung by stinging nettles (or stingy nettles, as we called them). Their spicules lashing out - it seemed - as I walked or ran past.
Once, we had no choice but to run through a large bed of nettles whilst escaping my friend's older brother and his goons. They didn't dare follow. We weren't worth the trouble.
Another time, I was appalled to discover that my mother had made a quiche with nettles. My young brain simply couldn't fathom why someone would do something like that. There wasn't even a dock leaf salad to go with it! Now, I regularly drink nettle tea.
I had some strange notions when I was a child. I've changed my mind on some things (calamari, fruit in savoury dishes), whilst on others I've remained steadfastly anti (tea with milk).

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