Snozzcumbers, whizzpoppers and frobscottle

Just before Christmas I bought a boxed set of Roald Dahl books and so I've spent the last week dipping my toe back into my childhood pool.

Safe in the knowledge that half the people in the carriage have probably read Harry arseface Potter, I've sat quite happily on the Tube reading The BFG, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator and George's Marvellous Medicine without an ounce of shame. Yes, I probably should be reading a book for grown-ups, but whilst I still think that there are few things funnier in life than a well-timed fart, I will continue to revel in my ever-present immaturity.

The BFG was apparently Roald Dahl's favourite book and leading up to his grave in Great Missenden there are a series of BFG footprints (apparently he was buried with his snooker cues, some very good burgundy, chocolates, HB pencils and a power saw???). Anyway, The BFG is also my favourite of his books and it hasn't lost one single iota of its charm, wordplay and sense of fun over the years. And I think that every single miserable, grumpy person in the world should be forced to read it. That's how you solve the big global issues – Obama, take note.

One thing I didn't know until last week was that Quentin Blake, whose illustrations are so utterly synonomous with Dahl's books that it's hard to imagine one without the other, only started drawing for Dahl in 1978, by which time Dahl was already famous. I just always assumed that they had collaborated from the start.

Next up is Danny, the Champion of the World, which I've never read before.