Princessism

This Princess Poppy phase is interminable ...

I've been yearning for a bit of Milly Molly Mandy or My Naughty Little Sister - although at a party on Saturday night (40th! can't believe I've started going to 40ths!) a new acquaintance pointed out that they're equally trite and stereotyped. Maybe I just like them for the nostalgia - not just for my own childhood but for some imagined simpler time when things were more straightforward and mothers did proper mothering with baking and scrubbing and hair up in rollers.

It's all just a reaction to a run of late nights working and Guardian front pages about the rotten lot of modern woman. Not to mention the new Princess Poppy I brought home from work - which features gladiator sandals and a routine that Gina Ford would be proud of, all in the first chapter.

Sometimes I wish we'd stop moaning though. Women. Are we never going to be happy? We just put so much pressure on ourselves to do it all and be perfect. Maybe we should start trying to have more fun instead.

Don't want to undermine all those decades of feminism or anything but I'm starting to wonder if it isn't time for a bit of princessism. I'm going to take a leaf out of Poppy's book: adopt the Pollyanna attitude to life. Sulk a little when I don't get what I want, but know that in the end things will turn out my way. Oh, and have attentive adults making sure that they do.

Maybe it's time to move on to Roald Dahl ...

The Little Old Lady in the Strawberry Patch

A little PS post for THE LITTLE OLD LADY IN THE STRAWBERRY PATCH, which we read tonight (along with the ubiquitous PRINCESS POPPY AND TWINKLETOES of course).

Lovely, straightforward storytelling. A favourite from my childhood, the final picture of the little old lady falling asleep clutching the largest strawberry (so tired is she after painting all the strawberries in the strawberry patch) is a part of me.

World Book Night, every night

It's World Book Night and I've been watching as the BBC try to make books feel exciting on television. Sad to say that it's like live theatre or music - it just doesn't translate. So while great books, and even not-so-great books can be adapted into great TV shows or films, people talking about books or reading from them just isn't very watchable.

Although I loved Jackanory, and that storytime at the end of CBeebies is pretty good too. So maybe I'm being unfair on the reading thing.

It's just that books need to be brought to life. When you're reading them yourself, your imagination does it. When someone's reading to you, they need to bring an extra dimension of performance to it, otherwise your imagination switches off and thinks about something more interesting instead.

Well, that's my excuse for making every bedtime story into some kind of one woman show.

Little a is used to it. But I've had complaints from wider audiences: 'you're too loud' being the most frequent. Must remember there's no need to project in a room where there's not even room to swing a cat.

We're still in our Princess Poppy phase, hence quietness on blogging front (there's really only so much I can find to say about Honey and Twinkletoes I'm afraid.) Am feeling really guilty about how quickly I'm reading at the moment. So desperate to get through the things that I'm speed-reading, hardly even pausing to do different accents - and regularly 'forgetting' to open the little tiny envelope on the first page with the twee message about how to stand like a ballerina or measure a horse using your hands (yes, really ...)

We went away for half term. Cunningly didn't pack any Princess Poppy and had a blissful week of Milly Molly Mandy and My Naughty Little Sister. Failed to wean her off though, since we got back it's been relentless princess homilies all the way.

So, my homily for tonight: I love World Book Night, what a great idea - to give away books and spread the love of reading. And isn't that what we all do, by reading to our children? Long may it continue ...