We’re on a wolfie theme just now, with almost every other book title having a wolf in it somewhere. But wolves are nice. Very nice, sometimes. And so are Debi Gliori’s picture books. So nice that if I don’t get sent one, I feel the need to ask for one, because I love them so.
What’s the Time, Mr Wolf? lived up to my expectations. It’s the perfect book for young and old, with the added bonus that you can – probably – send your young ones to sleep by reading it to them at bedtime. And if that doesn’t work, at least they will have learned to tell the time.
Mr Wolf sleeps a lot. Or he tries to. His neighbours are a noisy lot, waking him every hour, on the hour. Every hour there is some new noise, and something is happening. And every hour there is a nursery rhyme, somewhere. Blackbird pie, bacon sandwiches (three little pigs), Little Red Riding Hood, dishes running off with spoons. That kind of thing.
Our Mr Wolf has a bath. He gardens. He goes shopping. The baker bakes his cake as fast as he can. Mr Wolf’s afternoon nap is interrupted by a cat with a fiddle. The cow on Mr Wolf’s roof is conveniently close to the moon.
When six o’clock comes round, it’s party time! (I was gratified to note I had been invited. Or perhaps I invited myself? Lovely witch, regardless.)
It’s the attention to detail that is so wonderful; the teeth (wolf’s ones) in the glass by the bed, the way the cuddly rabbit tries to sleep on by covering his ears, or Mr Wolf’s tears when there is no post for him. Aahhh.