The Twins of the Father

I’ve been reading the girls Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at bedtime the last few nights. I did suspect from the start that it was a bit too old for them (at 4, nearly 5), and maybe a bit too lacking in weddings (a mandatory feature of any favourite story or film). But with the new film approaching, which looks right up their street, it seemed like a good opportunity to dust off a book very close to my heart and give it a go.

To help things along, I gave a little recap of where we were up to each evening, and a summary at the end. True, the girls weren’t reacting as much as they do to other stories, but I took that to be a healthy sign of enthrallment. When Charlie finally peeled open his fourth bar of chocolate to see a glint of gold, Hannah’s fist shot into the air with a delighted “Yay!”

But the doubts soon began to grow. Two night ago, Nicola took the girls to bed, and it was only when I asked where they had got up to that she revealed they’d actually read something else. She mumbled something about them only wanting Daddy to read Charlie, and then made a sharp exit.

Last night, I ushered them to bed and picked up the book. “Right, girls,” I enthused, “who’d like some more of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

The girls just looked at the floor. Eventually Hannah bravely muttered, “It’s got no colours.”

“And no princesses,” added Lauren, glancing up through her fringe.

Hannah decided to take things up a notch. “Yeah, it’s boring.”

“Can we have Sleeping Beauty?” asked Lauren.

And so it was that the greatest children’s book of all time was put aside for another day, and instead we read Sleeping Bastard Beauty. Again. Crap story with a wedding at the end beats great story with no colours and no weddings. That’s 4-year-old girls for you.