We've just watched this on i-player. If you love picture books, and you didn't see it on tv, it's worth a watch.
It had lots of our favourites from years gone by. It even had that picture from Dogger that makes my eyes fill with tears because it is the spit of our two when they were about four and seven years old.
I've wittered on about picture books before but I never feel like I've really expressed the importance of picture books in our lives - back when they were little. I can walk past a hundred babies in buggies or see the fuzzed head of a newborn breastfeeder and never get a twinge of broodiness. But show me a child of somewhere between one and three, looking at a book with a grown up, and I get swamped with a wave of nostalgia that swamps good sense. I loved *LOVED* reading books with our two when they were tiny. I think the most powerful times were before they could talk much. They would hand me a book and off we would go.
And it was nothing to do with teaching them to read. When we were there I wasn't wondering if they were noticing text, or pointing out rhyme or letter shape. I was just swimming in the story with them. And it brought back memories to me, memories of pictures that I studied so closely - in my own infancy.
Life with really little children is tiring. I often found it bewildering and sometimes overwhelming. For me, the picture books were like life rafts on choppy days. We could all cling on and Alfie or Frog or The Elephant and the Bad Baby, would get us to calmer waters.