copyright John Cooper Clarke?
If you visit my house (which you won't because anyone from the internet who turns up at my door will get boiling oil poured on them from the battlements, BUT ANYWAY) you will find I have a lot of books. An awful lot of books. I've always been into books and reading, and I can trace this back as far as my extreme youth when I would happily devour Beatrix Potter, Enid Blyton, Anthony Buckeridge etc. etc. etc. all the live-long day.

Possibly the very first book I can remember, though, was a volume of classic Victorian fairy tales that was purchased for me as a gift by my dear white-haired old granny. Even though I hadn't seen this tome for years, I could have described it to you in the minutest detail; or so I thought. But.

When my dad died a few years ago and I was clearing out his house, I found the book. Up until rediscovering it I would have sworn I knew the book inside out, that if nothing else I certainly wouldn't get the damn author's name wrong. But hang me, I had misremembered it. That book was by Hans Christian Andersen. It wasn't as Grimm as I thought.

Length? A hundred and fifty-two pages, demy octavo.
(Rise and Fall of the Atomic Cabbage Haven't you heard of suspension of disbelief?, Sat 22 Dec 2012, 5:29, 2 replies)

I had a bottle of demy-octavo once.
Horrid stuff.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Sat 22 Dec 2012, 13:14, closed)