Kingcup Cottage was the first book I ever had. I still love it, and now get to read it to my boys. My mum lovingly kept a lot of our childhood books, so I get to relive all the pages again though reading with The Monkeys.

And read we do. We always read a lot to, although their book case is getting mighty squishy.

It hadn’t occurred to me until recently just how much food has always played a part in my life. Even going back to my childhood books, it’s the food pages that held my attention. The end party picture of Kingcup Cottage with the array of goodies spread out, and all the woodland animals tucking in. It’s the sort of picture that I would have spent a long time absorbing every detail of it all and scrutinizing each corner of the page.

I’ve been subconsciously drawn to, so many pages in favourite early children’s books. It’s actually quite funny to look back as an adult and realise how I have come to these attractions or thoughts I guess, and how it has effected my way of thinking.

Midnight feasts were always very idyllic sounding thanks to Enid Blyton. As I got a little older, those idyllic notions were still implanted in my head from younger years of reading. It was the thing to do on early teen sleep over nights. Somehow though, it never felt the same as reading those books. Stories of school kids getting up to high jinks and eating a selection of goodies in the dark of the night. Goodies, that I would never normally eat but always sounded delicious reading through Enid Blyton’s pages. When it came to my midnight feasts though, we either annoyingly slept through, or ate a handful of smarties and a swig of soft drink as we paused ‘The Breakfast Club” or “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” and that was that. No glass bottles of ginger beer and tongue sandwiches…(although I’m not really sure I would have gone for the sangas anyway.)

It wasn’t the same.

Back to early childhood books and ‘Come over to my House’- Theo LeSeig (pen name of Theodore Geisel aka Dr Seuss), was also another early favourite. It’s worn, frayed on the spine and still has oodles of love to give anyone that is drawn in by its pages. Each of those pages take the reader to a different country. I know that this book contributed to me wanting to know more about different cultures and countries from its colourful pictures. I aspired to eating spaghetti in Venice with the watery canals beneath my balcony and long gondolas silently polling by because of this page.  I wanted to see the Northern Lights glow over a snowy landscape, and lie on a hammock on a tropical island feeling the balmy breeze between my toes. I’m still waiting to see the Northern Lights, but I have eaten spaghetti in Venice, and have felt that balmy breeze.

I wonder what impact The Monkey’s books will have on them and whether they will be drawn to the foodie pages or something else completely?

What ever those books do, I hope they help my boys to dream…

Did loved childhood books have a strong impact on you?