When I was about 9, my favourite book in the world was Milliganimals by Spike Milligan. It was full of silly poems about animals (many of which I can still recite from memory), silly drawings of animals, and, best of all, the silliest story ever written, called Bald Twit Lion. It starts like this:

“Once, twice and thrice upon a time there lived a Jungle. It started at the bottom and went upwards till it reached the monkeys, who had been waiting years for the trees to reach them, and as soon as they did the monkeys invented climbing down. Most trees were made of wood, and so were the rest. Trees never spoke, not even to each other, so they never said much (actually one tree did once say “much” but nobody believed him), they never said “fish” either, not even on Fridays. It was a really good Jungle: great scarlet lilies, yellow irises, thousands of grasses all grew very happily, and this Jungle was always on time. Some people are always late, like the late King George V. But not this Jungle.”

I can remember getting about this far as a child before I started laughing out loud, and before the end of the page I had succumbed to that delicious condition, so rare in adulthood, of being completely unable to breathe from helpless laughter.  I would try to read passages to my parents, only to dissolve into hysteria after a few words. If I remembered a bit in class I would have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.

I was reminded of this recently, because I read a bedtime book to my son which provoked very much the same reaction in him. And I felt the writer might have had some familiarity with the Bald Twin Lion. See what you think.

The book, You’re a Bad Man, Mr. Gum by Andy Stanton, starts like this:

“This is the story of the Battle of Lamonic Bibber, or as it became known, the Dinnertime Wars or, as it didn’t become known. Ghostbusters III. And know this, my friends – it was a terrible conflict indeed. Like all wars it was full of madness and anger. Like all wars there were courageous heroes and dastardly villains. Like practically all wars there was a dirty little monkey called Philip the Horror.

But I know what you’re wondering. You’re wondering how the Dinnertime Wars got started in the first place, aren’t you?

‘How did it all start?’ you say.

‘Where did it begin? you ask.

‘What do you mean, a monkey?’ you enquire.

‘Shut up,’ I reply. ‘Stop bothering me with all these questions, and I will tell you.”

You get the idea. The Mr. Gum books are lovely to read out loud: they are very funny, and get a belly laugh from any child – or adult – who happens to be listening. Bald Twit Lion and Mr Gum are little Silly Symphonies of nonsense, in which nothing really happens, but I suspect that they are more educational than a sackful of encyclopaedias, because they play games with words, and help to instil a love of language. Or not. Who cares? They make us laugh, which is an end in itself.