My ongoing task of sorting through my past and ridding myself of unwanted clutter has reached children's storybooks. Blimey, what a blast from the past!
Asterix, Noddy, Thomas the Tank Engine (why do people call him just "Thomas the Tank"? I've never understood that, he's a train, not a tank), The BFG, Rupert the Bear... the list goes on.
And they are such lovely books, most of them beautifully illustrated and they act like time machines right back to my childhood. Bedtime stories with my dad doing all the funny voices, marveling at the pictures and imagining being in them, playing the story out as if I am in it.
I miss the innocence of being a kid, when the only things that really matter are largely contained within the imagination. Not many children bother themselves with the mundanities of adulthood.
Losing yourself in a good book is one of the best feelings for anyone of any age, and I still do it now. But it really does mean more when you're a kid and the boundaries between reality and fiction are much more indistinct.
So I'll be getting rid of Noddy and Rupert and Asterix with a heavy heart, because losing those childhood stories is like permanently turning my back on parts of my past that I treasure.
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