I remember that feeling of cracking into a new book with utter pleasure and drifting away for hours into the world of imagination that the author had gifted you.

Also, after reading this I realise that I have gained the knowledge of so many children’s classics by osmosis rather than actually reading them.

Unlike Lucy though my distractions were cheap science fiction and high fantasy, as after reading The Hobbit very early on I just couldn’t get enough of Tolkien, then Asimov and others of that ilk throughout the seventies and eighties.

Bookworm is a lovely rallying cry for bookworms the world over and a helpful memoir of the beauty of children’s books and the ability they have to help children grow and transform, but at the heart of it the simple love of books and an engrossing story shines out.