“I’ve been making up bedtime stories for my children and suddenly I’ve had a brainwave. These stories are good! These stories are brilliant! I would be failing in my moral duty to my adoring public if I did not put them down on paper.”
If my theory holds true, it is scary, because it suggests that celebrities believe the hype about their own abilities. Worse, it implies a depth of public obsession about the famous that is even more extreme than we realise. It is one thing to want to know which celebrity is sleeping with which, who has fallen out with whom, the stuff and nonsense of tabloid prurience. But to want to listen in to the most intimate bedtime stories told by a celebrity to her or his child, irrespective of their worth, is bordering on the weird. —Ed Pilkington —Once upon a time (Guardian)
Don’t call me, I’ll call you.
P.S. John Lithgow, I’ll make an exception for you. Your kid books are pretty good, but you earned kid-cred by doing kid shows and a few CDs of kid songs. Farkle McBride and Marsupial Sue are OK with me. Oh, and that one about a mouse that paints pictures.