Now let me tell you lot something for free – right now:
You won’t need supersonic hearing or a Skype link to catch the gargantuan sigh that will emanate from The Gambia, West Africa when Mark Williams reads this post. No Sir’ee. It will be audible from space and probably ripple the oceans.
It’s my betting that he will be forced to change his tag-line as ‘the quiet half of the Saffina Desforges pantomine horse’, so loud will his exclamation of appreciation be.
Oh yeah, welcome to Banning the bullshit Sunday by the way…
So why will the elusive Mr. Williams be so happy?
Well, it isn’t because The Mighty ‘Zon have finally allowed us European (clearly) second-rate plebs access to the new Kindle Fire HD (although I must admit, Mark actually appeared to expend a couple more much-needed Kilocalories when I told him that it was out), nor is it down to the fact that the rains have all but subsided where he is and he can actually power up his laptop without fear of electrocution…no, it’s because he happens to think that Enid Blyton is one of (if not the) greatest story-tellers of all time.
Okay, here’s the second little gratis nugget for ya: I don’t disagree.
Yup. That’s right. You heard it here first.
The mere utterence of timeless icons such as Moonface, The Wishing Chair and Timmy the dog catapult me back to my childhood so fast that I don’t even have time to snatch a few stars and moonbeams along the way.
The sight of the covers when I was researching for this blog filled my stomach with pink bubbles and a fluttering nest of sparkly butterflies. I swear I caught a waft of the fields behind our house being harvested on an endless summer’s day and found a half-eaten gobstopper in amongst the fluff of my pockets.
I am not sure how many hours there are between being born and sixteen (when you’re officially supposed to grow up?) but I would put money on the fact that I spent thousands of them reading these books.
How I wished I lived in that Enchanted Wood with Saucepan Man as my friend and Silky the Fairy to stick up for me when the boys got a bit too rough!
The Famous Five and their adventures are probably to blame for my interest in crime-solving and love of a good mystery!
I sooo wanted to go off with Mollie and Peter, whizzing over the rooftops in the middle of the night in a chair that sprouting wings from buds at the end of its arms and play tricks on my friends with the super-mischevious Chinky the pixie.
I’d give anything to hold my original book in my hands.
To hear the spine crack as I opened it, to smell that heady mixture of old attics, damp leaves and ink and feel the rough, yellowing edges as I turn the crisp pages with a thumb.
Ahhh. I swear Enid Blyton sprinkled every one of her books with a handful of invisible story-magic. I also fear that the shop she used to buy it from closed many moons ago and she took the remaining stock with her.
Damn. I shouldn’t have written this blog.
I may not be quite so vociferous now in my defence of ebooks and electronic readers…
If you have children, get your hands on the full works in paperback and read them to your kids at bed time.
In fact, go out and get copies yourself and re-live a bit of your youth.
I think all of us could do with remembering what it was like to be young.
I don’t think as a reader and a writer, that I will ever quite lose that golden feeling of weightlessness and wonderment, of a belief in all things magical. But it certainly won’t hurt to leave this life behind for a few hours and play with my mysterious childhood companions again, at the bottom of a tree.
Stay free from bullshit my friends and more importantly, stay gold. ♥