At the head of the queue is that curious monkey George. That irritating primate does my head in with his cute banana-fuelled antics in a chocolate factory (or anywhere else).
If I’m being honest it’s not just the monkey himself or even the very, very strange Yellow Hat Man that’s the problem. And if I’d only encountered them once or twice, I probably wouldn’t even remember his troublesome nosiness.
But the thing is, Boy Three loves George and insists on hearing our one Curious George book every single night before he goes to sleep. The first few weeks of this were tolerable, but as time went on my dislike of the silly simian grew and grew. Now I wish Yellow Hat Man would have his inconvenient pet returned to the wild or, at least, banned from public places on health and safety grounds.
Reading bedtime stories to a clean, pyjamaed child, who is drowsy and curled up is one of the very best bits of parenthood. Or at least it is until they develop opinions about literature and, worse, get a favourite…
That’s when you can tell the really excellent children’s stories from the rest. It’s why Julia Donaldson and Michael Rosen deserved every minute of their times as Children’s Laureate. The poetry of the Gruffalo or the rhythms of The Bear Hunt mean you can stand the 198th reading. And it’s why Where The Wild Things Are makes my heart sing. “… and in and out of weeks and though a day…”
But contemptable George isn’t alone. He’s just the last in a long line of fictional fools that still set my teeth on edge.
Charlie and Lola. Yuk. Annoying and bratty… and that’s just the fonts.
On The Way Home, by Jill Murphy. About 12 pages too long by the third time. Far too many examples, we’d got the gist by the second.
Mr Men. Any of them from Tickle to Bump. They’re all horrible to read repeatedly and many of them make no sense. And the new female ones are even worse. Pink and unreadable.
Spin-off books. Hardly any books that evolve from TV shows are worth even opening. I’m talking about you Bob The Builder and you Dora The Explorer. And you’ve got nothing to be smug about Peppa Pig, you’re just as bad.
Which books would you do just about anything to avoid reading… again?
Old post but worth reposting.