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 ...

Happy year of the rabbit

We have been reading about dragons recently - because it's Chinese New Year, my supermulticultural daughter tells me.

Apparently, they didn't use knives at lunchtime in school on Thursday. In China, it's bad luck to cut on New Year, because you cut your luck.

So, I am beginning the Year of the Rabbit (very close to little a's heart, her favourite toy is a rabbit) with new knowledge and a new story: Chang the painter, who could not  refuse the Emperor's demand that he paint eyes into his dragons.

Shark in the Dark

The relentless Princess Poppy run may be at an end. Or at least is having a rest, thanks to Shark in the Park. Our neighbours - in fact, possibly the whole street - may be less pleased, since it is apparently essential to yell THERE'S A SHARK IN THE PARK!!!!!! at the absolute top of your lungs on every page.

It's our library choice this week (tomorrow is save our libraries day of action, by the way http://www.voicesforthelibrary.org.uk/wordpress/ 
I love libraries. Our local one was a big part of my childhood. I never even considered buying books until I was in my late teens, really. But the idea that you could have six books to take home as often as you liked seemed heaven to me. And I yearn for their collection of international fairy tales, which first introduced me to Baba Yaga. Libraries aren't cool, or particularly exciting, I know. Even the super-refurbished ones have bad carpet and dubious taste in soft furnishings. But through those doors is world upon world of new discoveries and places to go. And it's a safe place to explore that is asking nothing from you in return. That's pretty rare.)

But, as usual, I digress. Shark in the Park is our saviour, thanks to the library. Little a chose it because it was so familiar from nursery. I love that. She's started introducing me to books, as well as the other way round. Brilliant.

Though I do have to question the wisdom of a bedtime story about sharks, given her over-active imagination. And perhaps reading it alongside Little Red Riding Hood - the original version, where the wolf eats grandma, Red, then gets his stomach cut open and filled with stones - wasn't the wisest combination.

Maybe Princess Poppy and her icky world of sweetness and light isn't such a bad thing after all ... at least then the only nightmares will be about drowning in glitter ...



A friend of mine made a sweet defence of Poppy today: she said how nice it was that everyone was making things in the stories. It's true, they do - it's like the children's equivalent of Kirstie's Homemade Home (which I do love). Oh no. I'm going to start dressing in pink soon.

My brain is turning into pink blancmange

Here's a plea to the grandparents: when your heart thrills with the thought of your granddaughter's little face when she sees the fabulously pink and sparkly bag of books you've given her for her birthday, spare a thought for your own poor child.

Did you really spend all that time and money on the very best education so that the fruit of your loins could read, night in, night out, the moralising adventures of Princess Poppy?

Argh, they are so sweet my teeth hurt to read them: Poppy and Saffron and Honey, and their adventures in Honeypot hill (or something, I may be misremembering and I can't bear to look at it again tonight to check).

I admit, I would have loved them when I was little a's age. The illustrations are sweetly pretty, they have engaging little letters in real envelopes at the front, and they do attempt to teach something of the ways of the world.

But do they stand up to being read again and again interminably for the whole of the month of January?

No, they do not.

Although little a's birthday was only on the 20th. That was a week ago. Has it really only been a week? She's threatening to take them on our half term holiday. I fear I will be lacking in new material for this blog for some time to come.

Time to bring in some Horrid Henry or Roald Dahl, because if my brain is turning to pink blancmange, what good can it be doing to the precious daughter?

Slightly Invisible

oooh oooh ooh there's a new Charlie and Lola! a real one - not one of the TV spin-offs but a real proper Lauren Child wrote the story and did the pictures one.

That, together with my sister giving little a the Lauren Child illustrated edition of Pippi Longstocking for Christmas, means we're starting 2011 on a reading high.

True, I may not have been this excited had I not been forced to read Just for You Blue Kangaroo every night for the past three weeks (thank goodness for Twelfth Night and the loft. That's twelfth night the last day of Christmas, not the Shakespeare play. I know I'm middle class, but I'm not that pushy. Yet)

So, back to Slightly Invisible. As you can tell, we're big Charlie & Lola fans in this house. I have a friend who won't read them because of the bad grammar, which gave me about a milisecond's pause for thought before I remembered reading Enid Blyton never did me any harm. I mean I work in publishing now, so my grammar must be fine isn't it?

Little a took the appearance of a new Charlie & Lola in her stride (I love that acceptance that the world is of course filled with magical things that come to you at regular intervals. When does that wear off? How can I get it back?). I think it might be my favourite one yet, but ask me again after I've read it 200 times ... And at the risk of going all publishing on you, it's got much more of a narrative arc than the previous books somehow, less full of cute phrases and a bit more grownup-feeling.

We liked spotting Soren Lorensen hidden in shiny varnish on each page.

Probably not a starter Charlie & Lola, I'd say, but if like us you've grown up with them over the past five years, it's a very very welcome new addition to our collection of favourites.

PS I'd better confess my interest here: I work for a sister company of Orchard books - but this is the first of their books I've knowingly reviewed here. In fact, such a fool am I that I had bought all the previous C&L books before I even realised the original Lauren Childs are published by Orchard. Hey ho, it keeps us all going I guess ...

The stories of Christmas

Oooh Christmas books down from the loft: Wibbly Pig and his itchy scarf, Angelina skating, Olivia the pig on Santa Watch. And our favourite, compulsory reading every night at the moment: Just for You, Blue Kangaroo. As delicious as mince pies and as cosy as a yule log fire. Still not quite there on the true meaning of Christmas, despite the madness of a nativity play in our living room on Monday, but I suppose there's a glimmer of hope in the message of Lily doing everything for her blue kangaroo, and him wanting to give something back in return.

Books and Christmas go together like holly and ivy. On woman's hour this week, I heard of a tradition of reading Dickens' Christmas Carol each year, starting on 1 December and finishing on Christmas Eve. That's one I mean to start next year. Move over, Wibbly ...