Books are ultimate escapism. I read a lot. I read even more as a kid/teen. I would even enjoy reading the dictionary to help my dad with the cryptic crossword on a Sunday (combing each letter with the correct combination of missing letters and letters in the right place - I would burst if I found one that fit!). I loved all manner of things now considered a bit ropy. Blyton was absolutely up there. Mr. Twiddle and Mr. Meddle were the best (as well as the usual suspects such as Famous Five etc.). Here’s the thing though - I don’t read Blyton anymore. I grew up. Oh, and I like to think I am not a sexiest, anti-fat, anti-gay wanker. We do Pride, we went to BLM protests and we don’t vote for bleeping UKIP or fraternise in a Spoons (as does Jack, if I recall...something about bringing them down from the inside with free WiFi and endless coffee, if I remember correctly).
That poor poor boy. If he is a reader, it will be one of his escape mechanisms from his version of normal life. So, congratulations, Jack, on shitting all over that!