Endings and beginnings

I've been waiting a while to write this post.

2014 is drawing to a close; a memorable year for me.
Because- WHOOP!- I wrote a book. A good one this time; perhaps crucially the right one for me to write.
A book that went to auction post-Bologna- WHOOP WHOOP!
A book that I am so proud and delighted to say is going to be published in a gorgeous hardback edition by Walker Books next June, and then to be followed by three more- WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

But mainly- ALL THE WHOOPS!!- I wrote a book because I was sent an illustration which unlocked characters for me in a great, glorious whoosh: Not a way I ever knew my brain worked before.
That illustration was by the wonderful, generous Clara Vulliamy. I couldn't be more delighted to announce that my book is also HER book. Whatever thoughts I may have about my own words I can confidently say that our book is going to be the most beautiful object; crammed with warm, funny, delicious illustrations on every page. The proofs made me cry.

Our book, for those that like to categorise, is 'young fiction'- designed for 6 to 8 year olds or thereabouts- although I hope both those younger and much older will enjoy it too. It concerns the meeting and friendship of two very-dear-to-my-heart characters. Much more than that I'm not going to reveal just yet...

This post also marks time to bring The Little Wooden Horse blog to a close. THANK YOU to all who have read and commented on my posts over the last two years. Writing here has brought so many new adventures and friends. In the New Year I will be linking to a new personal blog where I hope I will be able to share the next bit of my booky journey. And in due course, reveal a little more about those characters...

In the meantime, here's me and my- very deep breath WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!- quite quite brilliant illustrator plotting stuff earlier this year. Careful study might reveal a first clue for those that like that sort of thing...

Quentin Blake at The House of Illustration

Not content with just having an Illustration Cupboard, London went one step further this summer and got itself a whole HOUSE of Illustration; a proper dedicated gallery and education space for celebrating that particular skill and art. About time too.

Their first exhibition has been in situ since July and is devoted to Quentin Blake. I had always been meaning to go but, as is sometimes the way with these things, it took the realisation that the exhibition was entering its final week to actually make the 30 minute or so trip from home. Me and boys went yesterday.

It makes a fine day out. Not just the House of Illustration but that whole patch of regenerated Kings Cross for a satisfying booky pilgrimage. We gawped at the queues waiting to have their photo taken at the (possibly somewhat over-commercialised) Platfrom 9 3/4 and poked about the Harry Potter shop. We also poked about the Doctor Who books in the bookshop next door. We swung on Kings Cross's handy giant birdcage swing and crane and train spotted.

The House of Illustration proved an elegant space. Yesterday it was running making and drawing workshops for The Big Draw and had a room devoted to Paddington too. We chose to start with the Quentin Blake exhibition. And it is wonderful- full of roughs and plans and notes as well as finished art work. You can follow the whole process from first thoughts to final illustration. The boys' familiarity with Blake's work made the whole thing accessible to them and they spent some time poring over walls/cases devoted to the Twits and The Boy in the Dress and Clown.

But, oh dear. I'd forgotten that there was a whole room in the exhibition devoted to Blake's  illustrations of Michael Rosen's 'Sad' book about the death of his son Eddie. And by the time I'd realised that maybe showing them to my Eddie would not be such a brilliant idea it was too late. He looked and looked and looked and then crumpled into a soggy ball. Then we had to leave and have one of those tangled tearful but necessary conversations about death and loss and whether you could ever be really happy if you hadn't experienced sadness too ( Eddie, in frustration, proposed simply banning sadness as a reasonable solution).

And there, quite simply, was the power of the illustrator expressed in a belly punch. Words on their own don't get to open those conversations with an 8 year old.

So we didn't spend the time I'd thought we might looking properly at Paddington or joining in the workshops which were also on offer. If you're short of activities this half term, do go before the exhibition closes. Just be better prepared than me.
And on the way back, fountain jumping, tunnel running and spotting favourites on the billboards, (plus the sharing of chocolate toffee shortbread) chased all the sadness away. And I think we felt the joy that more sweetly for it.

On Sudden Hill

I've become very quiet here I know. We've had a wonderful summer, jam packed full of good sticks and fires and mud and ice cream and Expeditions and mucking about and more particularly bears and whales and glaciers (which is another story). But truth to tell, awful to tell really, it wasn't that packed with books. Or perhaps more accurately that packed with books that we shared and got excited about together.Or perhaps MOST accurately books that I felt like blogging about after we'd shared them.

Bah. Enough introspection. I guess I've just been waiting for the right book to come along. Yesterday the right book did come along. A picture book that socked me in the gut with its proper punch of perfect emotional pitch. A picture book sparkly jewel of loveliness, that made me a bit snivelly and a bit warm inside. A picture book that made the nine year old (NINE year old) both prematurely nostalgic and  a bit jealous and aspirational and a tiny bit teary too.

'On Sudden Hill' by Linda Sarah, illustrated by Benji Davies is that book. A magical collaboration of text and pictures; there is real poetry in both. Birt and Etho take their cardboard boxes up Sudden Hill each day and find a box and a friend is all that is required for every possible adventure. When Shu arrives on the hill with his own box, two become three and everything is changed.
 Birt retreats and breaks his box. This is genuinely gut wrenching. The picture of Birt alone outside his house, the light through the windows dappling the grass is quite wonderfully sad.
Shu and Etho bring Birt back to the hill of course: The resolution of the book provides a blueprint for the best box-creation ever. And a blueprint in a simpler way for the negotiations and compromises of friendship. It's just lovely.

When Bill read it he was very still afterwards for a few minutes. Then he said 'I wish we lived by Sudden Hill'. Then he said 'That was brilliant'. Then he turned back to the beginning and read it again. There. That's all the review you need isn't it? If you love picture books this is one you need to own.

And pictures to remind Bill that he doesn't have it so bad when it comes to hills and junk constructions or indeed boxes-

'On Sudden Hill' by Linda Sarah, illustrated by Benji Davies, pub Simon and Schuster,

 isbn 978-1-4711-2325-2. Source- bought from a Real bookshop.

Dragon Loves Penguin, Max the Brave and I Heart Holidays

Three small summer treasures for you-

We stopped actively accepting review copies some time ago,  I have to say it's just as well. Other commitments have put this blog on a bit of a slow-burn and I would throb with guilt if I felt I was accepting lovely freebies under false pretences.
But now and again they still plop through my letterbox and I can't pretend that isn't a pleasure. Surprise book post is the best sort of mid-morning treat- demanding a cup of tea and biscuit break to savour.

One such surprise book this week was Debi Gliori's 'Dragon loves Penguin'. It was a particular treat because I almost certainly wouldn't have come to it any other way and it IS a lovely book. Thank you book delivering fairy from Bloomsbury.

Bib the baby penguin curls up with his/her (up to the reader to decide-good) mother for a bedtime story about their home of ice and snow and...dragons! Antarctica turns out to once have had a thriving colony of a small reddish-gold variety living in a volcano there. Who knew? But perhaps there were dragons everywhere once...
Anyway one particular dragon is left eggless when all the other dragons have laid their own-

'"Poor dragon," says Bib. "I know," says Bib's mummy, "but... sometimes things happen for a reason. Look." "Oh!" gasps Bib, "poor egg."

Given the many different ways parents and children may come to each other; whether through adoption, fostering, surrogacy or step-parenting it's wonderful to have a book that focuses on the only important thing you need to make a family; love. This book sings with love. Its message of acceptance and valuing difference is simply and softly told; reinforced by the easy fluidity of the pastel illustrations. It has heart without being saccharine- a particularly hard balance to strike.
A good story but also a useful story for libraries, nurseries and any homes which don't fit standard ideas of a nuclear family. So that'll be everywhere then.

The second book which fell into our lap unexpectedly this week thanks to my Big Win is Ed Vere's 'Max the Brave': A beautiful signed copy of 'Max the Brave' in fact. Lucky me. An exemplary picture book lesson in how less is often more, this is a familiar play around the jokes of mistaken identity rendered fresh through the kooky-eyed charm of its protagonist. Max is one no-messing charismatic kitten. His journey across deliciously uncluttered monochrome pages in search of a mouse to fight WILL make you smile. There's a good final joke too. Pretty. Clever.

And finally a book which entered the house through the entirely conventional route of being purchased in a well behaved manner from an Independent Bookshop. Except that I wasn't that well-behaved in practically snatching it out of the particular Independent Bookseller's hands when I saw it. And the fellow reviewers weren't that well-behaved in doing a big wrestle on the sofa for first rights to read it either.
It is Clara Vulliamy's third Martha and the Bunny Brothers book; 'I Heart Holidays' and it is as warm and happy-making as the first two. An exemplary picture book lesson in how more can be more too; every page packed with delicious beach holiday detail to ponder and discuss.
One page in particular needed a LOT of discussion in this house...

And if you feel you need to join this discussion I recommend the healthy lolly debate in progress on Clara's blog here.

OH WE DO WE DO WE DO!! (two more weeks to go...)

'Dragon loves Penguin' by Debi Gliori, pub Bloomsbury, isbn 978-1408839508 Source- review copy from publisher.
'Max the Brave' by Ed Vere, pub Puffin, isbn 978-0723286691 Source- Whoop whoop lucky competition win!
'Martha and the Bunny Brothers; I Heart Holidays' by Clara Vulliamy, pub Harper Collins, isbn 978-0007419210 Source- a real life made out of bricks shop which accepted money.

Whatever the source our decision to review is, as ever, our own.

Clever Bill

So, a very brilliant thing is Resonance FM's new monthly radio show; 'Down the Rabbit Hole'. Yesterday's programme was all about the (just awarded) Greenaway prize and featured illustrators Nadia Shireen, Ed Vere, Jon Klassen and (small drumroll obviously) Shirley Hughes having a natter. Should you unaccountably have MISSED this treat you can catch up here. I recommend. Except it should be longer and on more often.

I particularly recommend because I won a prize from yesterday's show. An invitation was put out on Twitter to nominate your favourite picture book and my nomination of 'Clever Bill' by William Nicholson was selected. Hurrah- LOVELY books are coming.

Clearly the notion of a favourite picture book, or a favourite any book is a bit of a nonsense. There are so many to love for so many different moods and reasons. But 'Clever Bill' I picked and I'll stick with for today at least.
I've never reviewed it properly here before because it is out of print and back in the days when I had some sort of utilitarian notions about this blog, that seemed wrong. Having long abandoned such muddle-headed notions now seems a good time to consider its charm.

That charm IS immense- but be warned it's also a harrowing read. It's perhaps 100 words long but Fellow Reviewer number one (who shares the eponymous hero's name of course and thus may identify a bit too much) has been unable to listen to those words since about the age of 3: "It's just too sad in the middle bit Mum." It may be ethically dubious of me to love a book that upsets my child but, y'know, feeling stuff is the essence of appreciating great literature innit? He gets it. That's the point.
And, unlike the new controversial Carnegie medal winner, 'Clever Bill' does have a happy ending if you can get to it without breaking down.

Written and illustrated by that William Nicholson- the famous painter one- and first published in the 1920s it concerns the age old dilemma of how and what to pack for a holiday. Mary has been invited to visit her aunt and has proper notions of the essentials that must fit in her case:
"O! I must take Apple Grey...and my gloves with the thumbs and dear Susan and my Trumpet and I might need my shoes and my blue teapot and my brush with my name on it and of course I can't leave clever Bill Davis and my purse..."
But essentials can be difficult to fit- "first she packed it this way and then that way" and "at last she was in such a hurry that she had to pack them anyway and!
and!!
and!!
and she forgot poor Bill Davis"
It's all those ands that are the GENIUS. Heart-wrenching amplification which makes you wait and wait for the cold statement of horror even though the illustrations have already let you in on the problem.
And the picture of Bill Davis sobbing... I don't blame my Bill really-it is gutting.

Bill Davis is of course Clever Bill and like all the best toys his despair quickly turns into determination to find his way back  to Mary. Toy Story 2 compressed into 22 pages. Let me show you some (perhaps quite a LOT) of them as a treat- I think I'm allowed to do a few given its out of print and venerable status aren't I?

we're not even going to mention that William Nicholson's other lovely children's book can be seen in the background here are we? Because then my brother who 'lent' it to me some time ago might notice and ask for it back.

possibly the hardest spread to bear looking at in ANY book EVER. Thank GOD for the hope of that 'but'...

I think it is probably perfect. So there.

Oi Frog

I've been LOUSY about reviewing picture books recently. Well I've been lousy about reviewing anything much- but picture books in particular. In truth we're not consuming them at home in the same quantities we once did. This is a sadness and something I should work harder to rectify perhaps- filling my pull along shopping trolley at the library again more often. A pile of picture books always went down better than the back of the cornflakes box at breakfast for instance.

However there's Bill at breakfast with his nose in a Charlie Higson, Derek Landy or an Anthony Horowitz ("Bill-are you sure you should be reading that- it says '11+ Contains Zombies, Death, Gore and Graphic Violence' on the back?" "Yes. It's SUPER cool") and Eddie reading impenetrable non-fiction about transport systems, Human biology ("These are my testicles- see Mum?" "Yes I do, thanks for that"), wii games and superheroes and the picture books get neglected. Children will keep growing despite one's best efforts to slow them down and family rituals can be replaced or forgotten with terrifying speed.

I do have an occasional excuse to browse and buy though- and that's searching out new, at least semi-decodable but irresistible material for the kids I read with each week through Beanstalk. And so begins the first of a few (I hope) posts about some of the recent books that have hit the mark. Books that they choose repeatedly with a grin. Books that leave us both bouncy at the end of a session.

'Oi Frog' by Kes Gray, illustrated by Jim Field has been one such. It's a book with one central joke running through but it's a good joke and there's a great pay off, so what else do you need?

A frog has grown tired of sitting on a log and seeks a new seat. This is not going to be allowed by a didactic cat (smug on her comfortable mat) who explains the rules of animal seating to him. Rhyme is everything. Of course it is; and as we meet gorillas perched on pillars and gibbons on ribbons we could feel that the frog has a reasonably good deal. 

There may be a final catch though.

There are really joyous combinations of nouns in this book, a pleasure in the silliness of phonetic rhyme that gets close to Seuss-like. The perfect antidote to the dry work of 'sounding out' in a literacy hour constricted classroom. Plus the opportunity to practice one's supercilious cat voice- always a pleasure.

Jim Field's witty illustrations in the most cheering, happy making sunny palette of colours (I do like a proper rich egg yolk YELLOW book) repay joy-filled poring over details: Fleas! On peas!

A book that makes me and one particular Yr 1 reader who often picks it giggle like giggling sticks.

We also like to discuss what the cat would make us sit on. I am all for avoiding hollies, caulis, brollies or follies please. Yes. Pollys' sit on lollies I think. Not ice ones obviously- that would induce piles; I'm thinking a very large traffic light one? Like a sticky red bar stool. 

How about you?

'Oi Frog' written by Kes Gray, illustrated by Jim Field, Published by Hodder, isbn 978-1444910858

grown up book diversions

I am, like all the best heroes of children's literature, an orphan. It's not quite the same thing. I'm 42 years old and everyone should be an orphan eventually, unless the natural order of things has gone horribly wrong somewhere. Still, most people get their parents around for longer perhaps.
My father died at a ripe-ish (but not quite ripe enough) age when I was pregnant with number one Fellow Reviewer. It would have been his 87th birthday on Friday. A day I was happy to celebrate. I raised my glass to the sky; though it didn't contain the whisky he would have chosen himself. He seemed quite close by.
It doesn't need to be his birthday for me to think of him of course. Every night when I read to the boys I find echoes of his voice and mannerisms in my own, whether its an old classic he shared too or something new. It's one of my (many) pleasures in reading aloud- finding myself following a well worn, familiar groove. An act of and active remembrance.

My mother died at a not-ripe-at-all age and when I was 12. That is sad and unfair and not right. But it is also a simple fact that I live with day to day without intrusive sorrow. Remembering her properly can feel trickier. Particularly having a sense of her as a grown up person that I might have had a grown up relationship with rather than "just" a mother.
This week I have been discovering the delights of reading Barbara Pym and a side benefit of that is a sudden joyful sense of following my mother's literary legacy in a new direction and finding her sitting surprisingly close at my shoulder too. I'd forgotten how much our tastes marry. I should have twigged and looked up Barbara earlier. She was always waiting next on the list.

My shared-heart book inheritance from my mother started with Gwynneth Rae's Mary Plain, continued with Noel Streatfeild (my mother knew her a little and I still have some of her personally signed copies-swank-) and then progressed after her death to her extensive Georgette Heyer collection- the first of these handed to me by my canny pa when I was a teenager ill with the flu. And to be honest it is with the peerless Georgette that I have stayed happily for the last 30 years, cycling through them on a yearly or so basis whenever I need to be sure of reading pleasure. Blissfully funny and well crafted Regency romance as comforting and satisfying as a mug of hot chocolate with cream.

If I picture my mother's bedroom bookshelf; her personal ledge of soothing treasures, I can also see the Barbara Pym novels all there in a line. I'm pretty sure I plucked one out as a teenager and gave it a go before abandoning it unable to see the point of all the spinsters and church. It would have all seemed too old and unromantic.
Now I AM old and unromantic I am obviously ready for them. They have been making me snort with laughter like no new-to-me book has for years. Today I wallowed in a bath reading the second half of 'No Fond Return of Love' and every page had perfect lines that would have made me score them with highlighter pen were I bonkers in that particular way. The world of limited gentility they're set in has gone of course but proves quite as pleasurable as the Regency to visit. And a reminder of what a boon social media has been to those of us with gossipy stalkerish habits who no longer have to endure a decaying seaside resort holiday to assuage our curiousity.

'An elderly man with an Aberdeen terrier passed them. "It must be strange to live at the seaside all the year round," Viola observed. "Look- there's the hotel I was thinking of- The Bristol..Shall we go in?"
"Yes, but let's peer first," said Dulcie. "This is the dining room, obviously."
A middle-aged couple, looking like people in an advertisement- she in pearls and a silver fox cape over a black dress, he in a dark suit- sat at a table in the window. A waiter bent over them- 'deferentially', Dulcie supposed, helping them to some fish- turbot, surely? Its white flesh was exposed before them. How near to the heart of things it seemed!'

Back to the children's books after this but just wanted to say thank you Barbara Pym- and welcome to the bedside shelf; Georgette and PG are shuffling along to make space for you. And also; hello and nice to laugh with you grown up Mummy.

The Story Museum

Last week we went on our Easter holidays and, appropriately enough, trotted in the footsteps of our namesake by choosing to spend a few days moving a canal boat through water. Whilst alas, not by means of genuine little wooden horse power; even by diesel engine it was a soothing way to see a very small amount of world move past very slowly.

We had four days of this-

Before setting off the Fellow Reviewers found a copy of the World Wrestling Federation Annual 2011 on the borrowing shelves of the canal boat offices. They both pored over every detail of this find and found it most improving holiday reading. If you want to know the record of The Undertaker versus (sic) Sheamus as of four years ago, they're now your go-to guys.

It also inspired a fair amount of this from alter egos Shucks and Mr Chuckalot-

(insert your own wrestling commentary/screams)

Anyway. This whole holiday, lovely though it was, was ACTUALLY a thinly veiled excuse to get my family positioned in the general Oxford area so that on the way home we could visit the newly opened Story Museum.

I'd been eager as any beaver waiting for this place to open properly. It's hosted the odd event in the last year or so as it was being transformed but '26 Characters' is its first 'proper' exhibition. Twenty-six UK authors and illustrators have been photographed dressed as a character that inspired them as a child. Each photo has then been put in its own story space with props and teasers from the character's book, along with an audio reading and interview.

I'm not clear what the building was before being reincarnated as a space devoted to inspiring story love. Whatever it was it's still a magical rabbit warren full of twists and turns and secret rooms. The transformation is also clearly very much a work in progress; bare bricks and exposed ceilings and the remains of an old canteen kitchen mean that the building itself feels a story. Our exploration had the air of an adventure- with genuine uncertainty about which way to go next or what we'd find round each corner. It's an exciting building.

We all loved the exhibition; highlights including the unexpected discovery of Narnia, brewing tea on a stove with Badger and illicit peeking at what Borrowers watch on telly. Eddie was very taken with all the beds on offer and spent a long time luxuriating amongst the vines in King of all Wild Things, Max's before some pretty vigorous bouncing on Mary Poppins's. I hope she'd approve. Participation is invited; we rode on the White Witch's sleigh (being careful not to take any Turkish Delight) and threw water over the Wicked Witch. We also all wrote our birth details on parcel tags in case we should be left in a station handbag on the way home.

E makes himself at home

spying on Pod and Arrietty

Our favourite thing of all though was, what I assume to be a permanent feature; the dressing up room with announcing throne. This is SO clever and SO much fun we could have spent a whole day hogging it. It's a simple idea that works brilliantly. They have a row of really proper old school dressing up stuff- by which I mean not ready-made child sized costumes but loads of weird old coats, cloaks, hats, masks and dresses so you can really spiral off in mad sartorial directions. Then they have these boards where you select a title and a thing and a place and slot the words in and walk up a red carpet holding your selection. By some total MAGIC these are read and announced with really proper pomp and ceremony and trumpets when you sit on the throne. It's the biggest ego boost I have ever experienced. I would like one in my kitchen to be honest. We had a LOT of goes. Even penguin.

You can find out more about The Story Museum and the exhibition here- and listen to the authors talking about their choices. But really this Fiendish Monkey of the Future commands you just go. It's excellent.

The Top Secret Diary of Pig

A momentous day for the Little Wooden Horse. It's time to let the fellow reviewers TAKE OVER. A bit anyway. Here's Bill's very first, own typed review for Emer Stamp's 'Top Secret Diary of Pig', which he grabbed to re-read for the second time today as a little light relief from the harder work of book 4 of Skulduggery Pleasant.

"It is about a Pig that speaks slang and lives on a farm which is run by a hungry farmer and his wife.Pig has a friend called duck and funnily enough he`s a duck.Next door to Pig are the chicken`s though Pig calls them Evil chicken`s.I like this book because it`s funny and full of poo."

There you go. Goodness; suddenly realise how pointlessly verbose I've been all this time. Nothing much to add to that except to say pig's adventures and his enforced spaceflight, also made me giggle; despite the fact  it is REALLY full of poo. A good, silly choice for those who want their farts with heart.


There was a great tutorial by Emer Stamp on how to draw all those 'Evil chicken's' in yesterday's Guardian.

'The Unbelievable Top Secret Diary of pig' by Emer Stamp, pub Scholastic isbn. 978-1407136370

Thanks to Scholastic for a Review copy many moons ago.  Bill's decision to review and his opinions are his own.

Toby Alone, The Last Wild and reading aloud

Bill's off school today. He's a bit ill but not very ill. So far he's gouged some eye holes out a large cardboard box, done some posing and ambushing with the pressure washer hose gun, mucked about with Lego, flicked through the Guinness Book of Records and is now lying on the carpet moaning gently- mostly for effect.
It's probably time I read him some more story to accompany his moans.
There's been a bit of discussion/blogging recently about whether and when children grow out of being read to. I was delighted to see via the comments section on this great post by Clara Vulliamy that the consensus seems to be never. Clara herself read 'War and Peace' out loud to her son. This deserves Special Mentions and Ribbons in the roll call of reading out loud Honours I think.
I have banged on about this before but I want to bang on about it again- reading to a 9 year old is different to reading to a 4 year old (which is different to reading to a baby of course) but has even richer rewards. You get to go deep over days or weeks into another place, you get to milk cliffhangers, you get to experience proper big exciting stuff together. You may even get to make you both cry. It's all good.

The last book we read was 'Toby Alone' by Timothee de Fombelle. This definitely had moments for all of the above in spades. Translated from the French I knew this book had fans among some Twitter friends but both Bill and I came to it fresh. That's the best way I think- neither of you quite knowing what's going to happen next. Bill wouldn't have the patience to manage 'Toby Alone' on his own yet. The narrative shifts time frame confusingly and some of the language is a little laboured (although that may be due to translation). There are also a lot of trickily named characters that take a bit of learning. Not a bad stand in for working up to reading 'War and Peace' perhaps then? It's also not a bad stand in for that book in being a dizzyingly good piece of world creation with a gripping story to tell.

The world created here is 'The Tree'; a nation state whose self-sufficient millimetre tall inhabitants are uncertain and distrustful of what lies beyond their branches. The story has lessons to teach about the environment, the management of natural resources and also about the dangers of nationalism and totalitarianism. This could be overly-didactic but isn't- thanks to the central story of on-the-run 13yr old Toby and the life-threatening danger he more or less constantly finds himself in. We both loved it; particularly the even-smaller then the Borrowers world scale: A puddle in the crook of a branch becomes a vast  lake, insect grubs - farm animals, a mosquito - a monstrous assailant to fight. A book both serious and charming.

Now we've (lacking the sequel to 'Toby' as yet) moved on to a different but equally enjoyable dose of ecological doom in the form of Piers Torbay's 'The Last Wild'. I have the advantage of Bill this time because I couldn't resist reading this all myself first. Coo it's a bit of a page turner. Another on-the-run (albeit of standard size) boy with a mission, Kester has the gift to communicate with the last surviving animals of a viral catastrophe which has left the whole world in thrall to sinister pink-gloop food manufacturer Facto. 'The Last Wild' manages to be simultaneously dystopian, heart wrenching AND funny and you can't ask for more than that can you? I love the imperious cockroach General and the cocky young wolf. We're about half way though now and I'm not allowed out in the evenings at the moment or Bill will miss an installment and sulk at me loudly the next day.
There's about to be a sequel to that too- and then a third. Perhaps all the best read aloud books come in three volumes? War and Peace here we come then.

Just keep reading to them. It's tops.
'Toby Alone' by Timothee de Fombelle, published by Walker Books, isbn 978-1406307269
'The Last Wild' by Piers Torday, published by Quercus, isbn 978-178087830
.

Girl with a White Dog

I went to a book launch last weekend. I was so delighted to be there to help celebrate. Going there I realised I'd never actually met the author before but that seemed quite strange because I really felt as if I had. I've 'known' Anne Booth through the strange medium that is Twitter for a couple of years now and I've followed the progress of 'Girl with a White Dog' from draft to agented to submitted to- small gasp- PUBLISHED during that time. Hooray! Anne is an author. It's been a vicarious thrill to follow that journey.

Anyone that has/does 'follow' Anne on Twitter understands quite quickly that she is one of life's goodies; someone who not just cares about people and the issues that affect them but acts on those cares too. It's a tricky thing sometimes; being 'good' in this speedy, self-centred world of ours. Kindness can be such an underrated virtue. And kindness, goodness, the softer, less certain sides of being a teenager in the here and now can get just as overlooked in contemporary children's books. I knew Anne's book would be concerned with these things; would be "good" in that sense but would it also be a page turner, an enjoyable/exciting read? Would it (cough) also be GOOD?

The fact that I read the whole thing in one greedy gollop on the way home from the launch and ended up embarrassingly moist eyed and somewhat snotty on the tube answers that question. 'Girl with a White Dog' is a wonderful read; combing a soft and funny understanding of the complications of Year 9 life with a gently challenging exploration of the consequences of indoctrination and prejudice.

There's some pretty weighty stuff hiding within its pages. The consequences of family break up, dementia, disability, economic migration, racism and most centrally; the long shadows of the Holocaust. But it wears all this weight so lightly. It's also a story about a teenager, a cute boy and a naughty puppy. Such a tricky balance to have achieved. Be warned; it's sneakily sweet and THEN it makes you sob.

This is a book that's going to be part of every school library for a long time to come. That will be loved AND taught from I think. I feel very proud to have seen it into the world and read one of the first copies. I will be able to look back and say "I was the one who ate all the Extremely Chocolatey Minibites at the launch of that book y'know." We all have a contribution to make. Congratulations Anne.

'Girl with a White Dog' by Anne Booth, pub. Catnip isbn  978-1846471810

Amulet

Bill is the grip of Graphic Novel Fever at the moment. After a friend shared the first volume of a Manga adaptation of Darren Shan's 'Cirque du Freak' with him in the back of the bus on a school trip a week or two ago he came back with eyes blazing. "It's SO SICK. Please can we get it? Please can we? Please can we?? Can we, can we, CAN we????" I've not seen him with that book hunger in a while.
Cue a trip to Gosh, Orbital and Forbidden Planet at the weekend to stock up with half term treats. I'd never taken Bill to Forbidden Planet before. He actually got a bit quivery when we went inside. He was like...well I guess he was like a kid in a comic shop. We spent a LONG time browsing Adventure Time figurines...

The required volumes of Manga 'Cirque Du Freak' proved disappointingly tricksome to track down however even within these warehouses of delight. It didn't stop us spending money. Another volume of Adventure Time comic, the acclaimed graphic novelisation of Coraline, Silverfin- all have been gobbled down on the sofa and on the tube this week as we've been out and about seeking half term Fun.

I picked up the first volume of Kazu Kibuishi's 'Amulet' series almost in passing. It looked too tempting to pass by. It's already proved an expensive impulse buy- as we immediately had to go back for the next two volumes and I am now being pestered continuously for the two last. Ah well. It's a bit lovely-an investment that'll be returned to I'm sure.

There is a whole vocabulary and set of references that I'm sure I should be employing to write about it- but although I'm not completely illiterate in the form, I am basically a newbie to the world of graphic novels. This is an outsider's perspective: 'Amulet' is an action packed romp through a fantasy world of glowing stones, evil elves, martial art expert foxes, talking trees, walking houses and lost cities in the sky. It's a bit Hobbity, a bit Star Warsy and a bit Studio Ghibli-y. There's a lot of fighting, some occasionally portentous speeches, and some funny robots too. There's also (be warned) some rather sad/scary bits. It has LITERALLY been unputdownable for Bill (alright I didn't put it down either... ) It also has the requisite kickass heroine. Huzzah.

Elf based fantasy isn't necessarily my bag but all I can say about 'Amulet' is that I can't imagine a more enticing book to put in front of that often mentioned mythical creature- the 'reluctant reader'- whether male OR female. The speech bubble text is clear, linear and easy to read and the action is non-stop. There's some awful pretty spreads in there too. Bill was finishing off the third volume in the tube yesterday and there was a boy sitting opposite him who was almost salivating at the sight of it, craning and jiggling to get a better look. He ended up asking his Dad for a piece of paper and a pen. As he got off the tube I saw he'd written a big underlined heading BOOKS and then halfway down the page the single word- 'Amulet'. Pester power based on the cover alone (and maybe Bill's obvious greedy pleasure).

The 'Amulet' series by Kazu Kibuishi, pub. Scholastic isbn 978-0-439-84681-3 This is a US import only (I think) so you may need to visit a specialist comic shop or (sigh) use Amazon to get hold of it.

Our Little Free Library

About 4 weeks ago, Twitter chum and all round rather-amazing-force-for-good-with-children's-books-things person, Carmen Haselup drew my attention to something called the Little Free Library organisation.

Set up in America but now spreading all over the world, these are mini self-contained book sheds put outside people's houses or in community spaces to provide an opportunity for sharing and swapping books with friends, neighbours and passers by.

Carmen herself knows a bit about community libraries, being the founder of the AMAZING Rainbow library- a labour of love that has put a whole lot of picture books into the hands of a whole lot of local previously unbooky nursery kids over the last year. She blogs about the powerful effect it has had here. Go look.

I went off to look at www.littlefreelibrary.org and thought two things.

1. That's cool.

and

2. I want one.

Being a Veruca Salt kinda girl I didn't stop there. I forwarded the link to my handy with tools father-in-law, a retired man with two and a half sheds of his own and a fondness for a Project.

Two weeks later he had built this-

almost entirely out of salvaged bits and pieces too. Just £10 for a bit of interior insulation and the cost of a fence post to put it on.

Our little library opened on Sunday. It's got a mixture of picture books, older kids fiction and grown up fiction and non-fiction- as broad a general mix as we could get from a random clear out of our shelves. And four days later, about 8 books or so have been 'borrowed' from all different categories and 3 new ones have appeared too. We've had lots of lovely comments from people passing and the local paper have even been to take a photo.

I love it. I keep going out to stroke it and rearrange the spines. Turns out I have a rampant inner librarian that was itching to be released...
 What I love most about it is that it's easy- manageable- something almost anyone can do (depending on your location and outside space obviously). People have been sending me photos of amazing little library spaces customised out of old phone boxes or popping up in pubs- and many are gorgeous but rather bigger enterprises than ours. Yes- it may get vandalised , yes- someone may take all the books but I'll take it calmly if that happens- it's just wood and old  paperbacks after all.

And what seems much more likely is what is already starting to happen- that we'll make some new friends, spread a little booky love and I'll always be able to find something new to read in the bath.

fellow librarians at work

Born to Read

Hello!

I went away for a bit; other stuff was demanding my attention- some of it to do with arranging words and some of it to do with cake and Christmas and family.

Anyway I'm mainly back today to SWANK.

Because I was lording it around the House of Lords on Tuesday.

I'd like to say this was because I was taking my rightful place on the red benches due to my longstanding hereditary claims to the titles of Pollyland. But that would be a lie.

I was actually there to work; invited as a Volunteer Reading Helper for literacy charity Beanstalk to promote their brilliance and their new partnership with Save the Children. I've been volunteering in a local school for three years now, reading (and playing and chatting) with three children twice a week. I like to think they get almost as much out of our half hour sessions as I do.

Beanstalk has been in existence for over 40 years and there are reading helpers throughout London and in select other pockets of the country. Save the Children is obviously a much bigger, more well known organisation and thanks to their involvement, the hope is the Beanstalk model of helping children discover the pleasures of books; the desire to read, can be expanded substantially.

On Tuesday, the Born to Read initiative was launched in the company of other volunteers, bloggers, parents, MPs, some pretty starry authors and illustrators and some delightful local school children who had to have their photos taken holding books a LOT.

Michael Gove spoke whilst I bit my tongue and studied the swirls on the posh carpet intently. Lauren Child spoke whilst I gazed at her like a dreamy loon. Charity people spoke and said what we all know; reading MATTERS. It matters more than anything else in creating social mobility and life opportunity.

Have a look at Born to Read here. They need 7000 new helpers. You need 3 hours a week to spare. Money is also good.

This is all very important. But here were MY highlights:

-In the loos next to the River Room where we all gathered was a large claw footed bath. I may now have missed my only opportunity to have a sneaky lunchtime bath in the House of Lords.

-There was disappointingly little ermine. But I did enter the building through Black Rod's Garden. The perks of being Black Rod eh? Your very own black rod AND your very own garden. And all you have to do is bang a stick once a year for the Queen.

-Our remit being to mingle and network. I went to a network a couple standing on their own in a corner. "Hello, are you reading helpers too?" says I, "In a manner of speaking, I write books- so that helps- my wife Helen draws them too." This was the point I realised I was in the hallowed company of John Burningham and Helen Oxenbury and went a little dribbly. They were very tolerant of the dribble and we had a nice chat where I learned that the Lord Mayor's coach really had broken down this year (cf. 'Humbert') and Helen Oxenbury confided that 'John NEVER reads you know- never reads at all.' I enjoyed that given the occasion.

But I expect he can read (giggle)- and that is rather the point. Not everyone is so lucky as to have a choice. Let's work to try and change that shall we?

Sibling rivalry diversions

The sense of ownership you have over a beloved book as a child is a powerful and distinct force. You love it, you live it, it becomes part of you. This as discussed in Francis Spufford's 'The Child that Books Built' or in Samantha Ellis's forthcoming 'How to be a Heroine' (which I am really looking forward to) is their power and importance. Nothing I've read as an adult has filled my waking thoughts half so powerfully as Mary Plain's cream buns.

I had a lovely time a few weeks ago attending The British Library's companion talk to their 'Picture This' exhibition, listening to Ian Beck, Laura Dockrill, Philip Ardagh and Lauren Child discuss the children's books that shaped them with Julia Eccleshare. The titles they discussed were wide-ranging; some familiar, some more obscure but their experiences had much in common. There was talk of visceral  imprinting, of world views refocused and of self-discovery. And of getting lost in and liberated by the purely silly. Hooray! I, and the rest of the audience would have been happy to have continued the conversation late into the night.

There was one aspect of all this which occurred to me that didn't come up, and that is how family position and sibling dynamics feed into the books one 'owns'. I am the youngest of four; the youngest by 6 years in fact so very much the baby (or afterthought/accident depending on spin). There was already a fairly healthy children's bookshelf of treasure to pilfer by the time I was growing up and this worked in two ways: It led me to discover some titles that I might not have absorbed so thoroughly independently; my biggest brother's complete 'Asterix' collection, my big sister's 'Twins' books (and later her early Jilly Coopers), 'Our Island's Story' and the book of Greek Myths covered in the sheet of Baskin Robbins ice cream wrapping paper (the wrapping paper may have absorbed me more than the myths).

But the other way it worked was to reject those books already perceived as 'belonging' to someone else; specifically and predictably my closest in age sibling. We all want to be different. I didn't want to wear his cast-down stripy trousers and velour t shirts and have my hair cut in a pudding bowl by Alan the barber so everyone called me 'Sonny' either. I didn't have a choice about those. I did about books.

I should make it clear at this point, because he reads this blog and other than occasionally correcting my grammar/spelling has been kind about it, no blame attaches to the sibling in question. He didn't hoard his books; he was a good 'sharer' n that (merciless on a Monopoly board but that's a different blog). I even remember him reading (I think) 'The Horse and his Boy' aloud to me when I was ill in bed once. But he was also a big and passionate reader and I definitely felt some books were already 'owned' by him and thus had nothing left to be absorbed by me.

For a children's book blogger this amounts to a confessional: I have never read any C S Lewis Narnia beyond the first. I have never read any Arthur Ransome and didn't touch Tolkein before adulthood. Ursula Le Guin and Susan Cooper also remain to be properly discovered. They were all 'his'. It may well be they wouldn't have sung to me anyway but I never gave them a proper chance. Am I alone in this experience? I think about Bill and Eddie and wonder if the same rules will come into force. Eddie already rejects books on the basis that they belong to his brother. I'm pretty sure he'll be bypassing Harry Potter from second-hand overload/over-familiarity. I reckon he's on safe ground in wanting to keep his dense non-fiction transport reading matter to himself.

'The Complete Uncle' by J P Martin has just been re-published thanks to a tremendously successful Kickstarter by publisher Marcus Gipps. The husband has a hand in it and a drawing too. It's a very beautiful object. There are a few copies that can be bought I believe even if you didn't buy into the Kickstarter. But Uncle also belonged to my brother's shelves and when I dip into this volume now I can admire and laugh and boggle but I don't really love. It's not in my bones see? It didn't form me.

Not like Mary's meringues did.

As it's nearly the end of the year I'm going to hatch a piece of news that I've been sitting on like an increasingly uncomfortable egg for some months now. I acquired an agent this autumn. A rather good agent, whose existing list makes me feel a bit like that bit in 'Vertigo' where James Stewart comes over funny on a ladder. This is all very well (and definitely GOOD) but it does require me even more to write something worth publishing; exciting and terrifying in equal measure. Because children's writing, the worthwhile sort, silly or serious gets under the skin and stays there forever. No pressure then, gulp.

The Thirteen Days of Christmas

It was time for a refresh so I pared the blog 'design' down a little. Design is in inverted commas because really that's a rather inflated word for what happens when I play around in a slightly panicky way with the blogger default settings and backdrops. I dunno. Font choices are HARD.

This is mostly a post about 'The Thirteen Days of Christmas' by Jenny Overton but it's also a small paeon of praise to the precious, precious treasure that is an independent local bookshop. A bookshop which knows you by name and knows your taste and knows what to put into your hands and say 'here, read this, you'll like it.' I might not have found 'The Thirteen Days of Christmas' without mine doing just that and that would have been very sad indeed. Because I DO like it. Bookshops are not just for Christmas but they are especially nice at this time of year. Go and spend money in one yourself. It'll make you and them both happy.

So. 'The Thirteen Days of Christmas' (illustrated, small drumroll, by a certain Shirley Hughes) was originally published in 1972 but has just been reissued. It's essentially a creation story for that ever-favourite-if-a-bit-interminable-when-sung-by-your-otherwise-obviously-delightful-children-in-a-loop-at-full-volume carol 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'. Set in the eighteenth century, it's the story of overly-romantic Annaple Kitson being well and truly petard-hoisted by her younger siblings: Desperate to see her married off so they can escape her inedible cooking they provide helpful inspiration to her apparently staid suitor Francis. But Francis, it soon transpires, has plenty of inspiration of his own and a seemingly bottomless purse. Will there be a wedding on the thirteenth day? Well what do you think?

The great conceit/joke of the book is that Francis not only provides the named gift for the day, he also provides the chorus duplicates daily. Thus on the fifth day, Annaple not only receives 5 gold rings, she also gets another 4 calling birds, 3 french hens, 2 turtle doves and pear-tree roosting partridge. And so on. Requiring the construction of ever more elaborate livestock containment and the consumption of massive quantities of eggs and milk; in the end used for bathing and shaving as well as drinking. Funny.

The other pleasure is the education it provides in some long forgotten Christmas traditions. The twelve days of Christmas each presented with their own name and associated rituals: St Thomas of Canterbury's Day (day 5) for instance where all keys are brought to church for blessing and sparrows are fed or Eve's Day (day 11) bringing treats for all the women of the house. I'm re-establishing that one forthwith. The book is peppered with contemporary carols and verses that must have once have been folk knowledge. It's got to be the Most Christmas book I've ever read.

'The procession turned into Ship Street. The choir-boys ran ahead, banging on the doors of all the houses where there were young children and shouting, "Ransom your brats, ransom your brats, a penny a piece for your babies." The pennies showered from the windows. Will dipped his hand into his sack and threw handfuls of nuts and little bags of sugar plums to each ransomed child, and the choirboys stuck sprigs of holly through each door knocker to mark the fact that the price had been paid.'

There's lots of this sort of stuff and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It might rather reduce the charm for the child reader though. They'll need a taste for the sophisticated and historic or an ability to skim the slower pleasures. This is a book for reading aloud I reckon; a family fireside appreciation with something for everybody. A chapter a day when the actual twelve days arrive? That's what I'm planning. Lovely. Thanks 'The Children's Bookshop'.

'The Thirteen Days of Christmas' by Jenny Overton, illustrated by Shirley Hughes, pub. OUP, isbn 978-0-19-273543-0

What Bill's reading

Bill's turning 9 next week. Halfway to a grown up. Considerably less than that until he thinks he's a grown up. Gulp, sniff and coo-how-did-that-happen? in equal measures.

I don't often blog about what he likes to read but that's mainly because what he likes to read is pretty canonical. You'll have heard of what he likes. He likes to tick off series; sometimes in a devouring-can't get-enough-way (How to Train Your Dragon), sometimes in a dutiful-this-must-be-FINISHED-for-credibility-way (Percy Jackson). Some books he reads fast,almost in a single sitting (Tom Gates, any David Walliams, Guy Bass, Wimpy Kid) some take him weeks and bog him down a little (poorly edited 5th Harry Potter j'accuse). Some books are apparently too 'old' for him but he loves (Wonder) and I'm delighted to say he'll still happily read those too 'young' for him too. He wrote a book review about 'Hug' a month ago for school. It was pasted on the wall next to one for 'Stormbreaker' by an overly sophisticated classmate which tickled me.

He starts books and stops them. His bed is surrounded by possibilities, choices, some begun and abandoned permanently, some just waiting for the right moment, some in a patient queue. My bed is the same. Everyone has the right to be a flaky, distractable, occasionally impatient  reader I reckon. At the moment he's mainly reading 'Silverfin' but seems also to have finished a Lemony Snicket or two and be dabbling with a compendium of entertaining deaths called 'Dreadful Fates'. He likes to treat us to treasures from the last at the dinner table.

I read to him. We've just finished Jane Johnson's 'The Secret Country'; the first in a trilogy. With definite shades of Narnia in a contemporary setting; it's a funny adventure story of a boy who discovers his 'Other World' destiny by way of a talking cat and an incarcerated dragon. Nothing especially revolutionary but who needs revolution? He or I or a mixture of the two of us'll read the next two eventually. First, as it's Advent, 'The Box of Delights' is calling; another book passed down to read by my dear dad. Christmas's past will be brought into focus, cue more sobbing.
And how long do I get to carry on reading to him? Forever I hope against hope.

There's one thing that Bill reads every, every week without fail which is also celebrating a sort of birthday: The totally marvellous 'Phoenix Comic' has its 100th issue out this week. The only independent comic to have achieved such a feat in 40 years; it's ad-free quality story telling of the highest order and mighty pretty to boot. Every Friday it arrives in the post and I sneak it out of its envelope to have a read over my lunchtime soup and cheese before resealing it. Then Bill gets home from school and pounces and doesn't even turn on the telly until he's finished it.

Happiness.

Happy Birthday Bill. Happy Birthday Phoenix.

Happy reading = happy reader. (and of course a Wagon Wheel never goes amiss either)

And here's a sample of The Phoenix if you want some happy reading of your own.

How Cars Work

Anyone who gets talking to Eddie is soon going to get talking to Eddie about buses. As regular readers of this blog will know, buses are just a little bit important to Eddie right now.
(entire route of the 210 in both directions is tomorrow's treat for us...)
So inevitably kindly adults caught in a route interrogation conversation will ask the question, "Are you going to be a bus driver when you grow up then Eddie?"
Which sends him into a bit of spiral of panic and denial; "No. That would be too hard. I don't know how to drive. I'm just a child."
The idea that it is a skill he could be taught one day seems to be Dreaming the Impossible Dream.

I knew it was formenting in his brain though when I started finding him craning over the dashboard and crawling in the footwell of the driver's seat of the car on a regular basis, examining pedals and buttons and grilling me on their purposes. I am really not the person to grill on this subject beyond the basics. Eventually he admitted, "I need to learn to drive soon because when me and Ella M fly to Australia together I've said I'll drive the hire car." It was news to me that he was planning an imminent return trip to Oz with his 6 year old fiancee but I understood the pressure of responsibility he was feeling.

Enter 'How Cars Work; the interactive guide to mechanisms that make a car work' by Nick Arnold and Allan Sanders, part book, part cardboard meccano; a properly unpatronising primer in car engineering which is also a little bit tasty-looking.

The book has a removable peg board at the front and a back pocket full of numbered coloured cogs, levers and screws. Each page looks (in detail- this will really properly satisfy any budding engineer who wants to look under a bonnet) at a different aspect of a car's mechanics and then provides a plan to build a working example on the peg board. You get therefore to make and see how a piston moves, or the motion of a windscreen wiper or the principle of an accelerator in action amongst others. It's really very nicely done.

The making is reasonably technical, requiring the following of a plan and grid references and appropriate selection of parts. Eddie is not of the mindset to do it yet, Bill had a good play around. But Eddie does pore over the technical descriptions with a bright and beady eye. Hoovering up the knowledge he needs for a golden future on the buses.

I've started keeping the car keys hidden.

nice bit of suspension

Incidently in a week where there has been much discussion about the pros/cons of the Goldiebox range of toys to encourage girls into engineering, after their rather fun ad went viral, I think this book does a reasonable job of gender neutrality. The illustrations are just about evenly split between male and female drivers and the colour palette is not agressively 'blokey'. All you DO need to enjoy a read/play is an interest in how cars work.
Here's the Goldiebox ad if you've happened to miss it-

'How Cars Work' by Nick Arnold and Allan Sanders, published by Templar, isbn 978-1-84877-737-8

Maps

There are a lot of maps in this house.

For a start there's a magnetic map of the world in our hall with name magnets that we push around as friends and family go on travels like military planners. We really value friends who disappear to interesting destinations for months at a time for their magnet value. The small matter of not having them around to chat to matters not a jot in comparison. P and L who have spent the last five years in first Pakistan, then Zambia and now Burma get the gold star in this respect. We sponsor a child in South America solely for the benefit of that map really.

Then there are Eddie's beloved bus maps which wallpaper his room and are spread over his floor, doubling as Total Wipeout course obstacles when he's not studying their intricate poetry. As I type this I am readying myself for today's treat of travelling the entirety of the 102 whilst his brother is at a party. "I'm so excited!" says Eddie.

There is a substantial collection of books of maps too; both of the entirely practical variety- Pah I say to your Satellite Navigation Devices; I LIKE driving with an open book on my lap giving frantic glances down to where I should be going- and of the ancient and decorative. Basically, whenever I can't think of a present to buy the husband, which happens increasingly frequently as the years pass and I have given him everything, I buy him a mappy-type book. And it never fails to make him happy. He is happy with the mappy.

But best of all is this one which he has painted and is a work in progress on Bill's wall. It was supposed to be covered in 'things' by now. Alas an RSI-type collapse put a dramatic halt to is completion in the last few years but the husband's caterpillar slow recovery is marked by the new addition of St Basil's cathedral last week. The big red balls of the Total Wipeout course are set to adorn Argentina next...

Which brings me to 'Maps', a book of simply astonishing loveliness by Polish author/artists Aleksandra Mizielinska and Daniel Mizielinski and which formed part of Eddie's birthday book haul last month.

It's like Bill's wall but turned up to 11. Each double spread is devoted to a different country and crammed with illustrations incorporating not only the sights, but also the people, stories, food, animals and history of the place. All hand drawn with dizzying gorgeousness. It's LUSH this book is. Lush. Not a word I've used for a a good few years that but exactly what's required here. It's also big and thick papered and Proper. A coffee table book or rather in Eddie's case; a hot chocolate table book.


Just look at it-

See? SEE? Loveliness. (and excuse the photography which is extra specially poor today)

I like the 'facts' on the UK page which include 'The British are famous for their luxury cars' and 'Afternoon tea is a British tradition'. One rings truer to me than the other.

Have to admit it's the husband that has been appreciating this book even more than Eddie since it arrived; if in a slightly wistful I-would-like-to-be-fit-to-paint that way, poor lamb. But Eddie will get round to it. He's just rather hung up on another birthday book at the moment- his absolute best present that he would recommend to you ALL. It's the 2013 edition of 'The London Bus Guide- the routes, the buses, the garages, the companies' by Ken Carr.

I am fairly confident that it's 'Maps' you should be putting on your Christmas list though. Unless you prefer buses.

'Maps' by Aleksandra Mizielinska and Daniel Mizielinski, published by Big Picture Press, isbn 978-1-84877-301-1