Christmas shopping in Waterstones, I came across a memory card game called We’re Going on a Bear Hunt. I snatched it up and almost ran with it to the till, where I paid the woman with the smug attitude of a connoisseur. If I’d had a cavalry moustache, I’d have twirled the ends. I’d intended wrapping it up and putting it in my grandson Oscar’s stocking, but the wait would have been unbearable. So when I got home, solemn with excitement, I simply handed it to him, and we cleared the decks immediately to play, with Grandad still buttoned into his overcoat.
Do you know the book We’re Going on a Bear Hunt? No? You haven’t lived. The grandson and me, we read a lot. We are working our way through the entire literary canon for the under-fours: Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy; Katie Morag Delivers the Mail; Ruby Flew Too!; On the Way Home; Owl Babies; The Gruffalo; The Day Louis Got Eaten.
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