Nearly all my favourite books have been presented to me by others – a statement more in context with the entry i had meant to scribble before all to promptly finding id diverted myself off ..
As a youngster these came mostly in the form of Roald Dahls books – the BFG, the twits. It’s quite possible he will forever remain my favourite author. Improved even further than his natural talents by the invaluable additional merit that at that time the books were read to me.
Ive always intently disliked reading a feeling almost entirely unrelated to the fact I’m not very good at it, my attention wonders, whole section pass only to realise the reading bit hasn’t bothered to hand on its harvest to the processing bit – then do you read it again or come back to it another day – and then in those occasions when the words to form sentences and the sentences retain some meaning, well on those times the celebration and effort of it being so nap educing, so as to inevitably be most short lived.
The inclination to site Dahl so immediately is kind of odd because in many ways these were not the books that I remember enjoying the most, as good as they are. They are though the ones that if ever asked would most immediately come to mind.
I can remember no stories from the Nicholas books, yet I would say these were the ones that naturally appealed to me the most, back in those times. They were the ones I might even have read of my own accord.
Perhaps like a popcorn movie, there must be a reason why the stories have faded, they appeal but don’t mean so very much – not sure.
The books that have followed and whose stories are readily recalled are those of A.A Milne’s Pooh, remembered probably with the most fondness but still not coming so immediately to mind as the odder, slightly darker, odder, world of Dahl.
Milne’s creation is warm, all heart – Dahls were not, coming instead from a mixture of all kinds of places.
It seems, in the spirit of popcorn ways, some thing have their moment and within them they are the brightest thing but beyond that time they are lost – extinguished.
Catwalk fashion, Italian cars, red dwarf (to a way leaser extent) things that belong to their time. All things do but their time is notably short. Go go your local Italian car dealer, there they are-sleek lined up to the moment look … You buy it and if fortune favors you and you succeed in getting in coaxing it to get you as far as home, chances are you will wake up and look at it one not to distant morning and wonder upon what it was you were thinking. Like shoulder pads, the mullet or willingly voting for tony blair. You know it happened but it’s inexplicable as to why.
Dahl and Milne are not of a time & this wasn’t the post I intended to excrete. But a deluge of unnecessary commuter preamble.
Still there is value in the moment – would Magyver have been the memorable one man a team were he robbed of his mullet? I for one have always very much enjoyed my time in Fiat Panda hire cars – like dodgems – and find those earlier slanderous accusation as to reliability utterly unfounded.