I haven’t been this excited since my Mum bought me a Cindy doll in 1988.

Maurice Sendak’s Where The Wild Things Are is my favourite book of all time.  My Granddad bought me it when I was five years old, and a few months later I had listened to the story so many times that I could retell it word for word.  I made boats out of cardboard boxes and bed sheets, and pretended to sail away to the land in the story.

The book tells a tale of a little boy called Max, who’s mother calls him a Wild Thing.  His bedroom turns into a jungle, and he sails away across the sea to the Land of the Wild Things.  The Wild Things make him their king, but he misses home and sails back to his mother, where his supper is waiting for him.

Every class of children I’ve had have been told this story.  We’ve talked about our own families and about whether we’d like to go and visit the Land of the Wild Things.  Then we’ve made boats out of cardboard boxes and bed sheets, and ‘rowed’ across the ’sea’ to the other edge of the classroom, where vines hang and children in masks pretend to be Wild.

Needless to say, most of the children I’ve taught have grown to love this book as much as I have.  And I can’t express how excited I am about the movie.  Not because I think it will be better than the book, but because it will open the minds of children (and grown-ups) who don’t yet know the story.

The movie is out in October this year.  Do me a favour, and try watch it through the eyes of a child.  You never know, you might learn something about yourself.

Click here to view the movie trailer.

We’ve all dated twats. Some of us have even loved, lived with them. Finally, a Bible for the subculture of women who put up with these incessant idiots, and somehow – still find the energy to love them.

When the other-half moved in, he bought me Zoe McCarthy’s book: My Boyfriend is a Twat: A Guide to Recognising, Dealing, and Living with an Utter Twat.

I’m sure he thought it was a hilarious gesture, subconsciously informing me to deal with the fact that he was a bit of a Twat, and to just consult The Book for advice. He had, however, practically lived with me for years before he ‘officially’ moved in. The only difference was all his shit suddenly took over my house, and I got a tiny bit of financial help towards bills. I didn’t need a book, I needed a babysitter.

The Book didn’t offer me any advice I hadn’t already figured out for myself, but it showed me how to find humour in the daily grind of living with, cleaning up after and managing a Twat. More importantly, it provided some hilarious bedtime reading, complete with quotes I could relay to my Very Own Twat, much to his disapproval.

Admittedly, it isn’t a book I’d have bought myself. It’s not quite the Tony Parsons-esque literary paintings that I usually read, filled with tear-jerking quotes that I remember word-for-word, years after reading them. But what it is, is a humorous and brutally honest book written by a woman who isn’t afraid to lay it all out on the table, and then courageously laugh about it all.

I knew from Zoe’s blog that the book would be funny, but it goes far beyond. It’s utterly hilarious, and for that – I recommend it to anyone, no matter what your tastes. It’s utterly inspiring to see a blogger get her own book published, and personally, I’m waiting (im)patiently for Eileen to pull her socks up and crank out some literary genius of her own for all us mere part-time bloggers to bask in.