I’ve borrowed this title from Michael Morpurgo about his new book Born To Run. Many of his books make me cry, so I can’t judge whether this is sadder than average. It’s about a greyhound and his very different lives with three owners. It’s lovely, but a hanky wouldn’t be a bad thing to have nearby.
Michael’s granddaughter was part of the writing group last week. I was worried she would be tired of talking about her famous grandfather all the time, but she humoured me. It’s nice to know that you don’t have to be so cool when young, that you don’t read children’s books written by family.
I’m concerned that I was the only one there to react to the name of Morpurgo. I’d have thought that a former Children’s Laureate would register on the minds of more people. Please tell me children’s books aren’t unimportant!