Mr Men

A renewed love of the Mr Men, totally excluding the Little Misses, coincides with a vicious slur being recommenced over on It Is What It Is. Which I can't properly link to but I'm sure it's mentioned over there on your right.

Anyhoo.

The love, incidentally, does not extend to the rather bizarre Mr Men Show which is presently being shown. Nuh uh. Old school Mr Men all the way. The only benefit of this show is that Mr Men merchandise is available, except they all look wrong.

The Mr Men books are, in short, genius. Long have I adored them and have gifted them to many's a bemused adult. The reaction of the adult to the book cements my opinion of said adult.

The boys (ok, me) had a small collection going until the other day when a windfall, erm, fell.

Untold joy to discover that on that dark, dark day (at the age of 15) when all of my books were given away in error, every last book had not been lost to me forever. Some had survived, and included in this wondrous booty were all of my very own Mr Men books. Only a handful of duplicates and ok, my old books don't say "My Mr Men Library" along the spines if you have them all, but goodness! I had most of them! And now I once more have Mr Slow to ensure my translation of Monsieur Lent isn't too rusty. Sadly there is no English version of Monsieur Non, which is the greatest Mr Men story of them all.

Digress? Moi?

Tonight's bedtime story was the heartening tale of Mr Nosey. One of the green ones, incidentally, if you are interested in such things. Not as funny as others, but still a grand story to read. This copy cost 20p and suggested that if you enjoyed it you might also enjoy one of the other SIX Mr Men titles.

I am so old. Which probably explains why I don't fit into my sons' Mr Tickle costume.



Yes. Mr Tickle. The undisputed leader. Tickle power defeats all.