more than just bagpuss

i've just finished up reading oliver postgate's autobiography, 'seeing things'. it's one of a few books that have made me go'oooooh!' and want to shove into any suspecting strangers' hands recently

others include: the electric michaelangelo, things snowball, corporate watch's excellent and chunky technofixes report, margrave of the marshes, toast...

but back to oliver. i've not yet started reading him up further - i no idea (but would like to find out) if he's still alive, or if he's done more anti nuclear/solar power stuff. i've joined a biiiiig library with the added bonus of interweb access, so i could get my arse into gear and google a wee bit. i think i might like to.

he's so full of love and sense and joy and the like; it's all so warmly and genuinely told. it's a really really charming book, and reminded me a lot of tom baker's who on earth is tom baker?.
i loved the odd ramble in which he'd go ambling around with no/lots of purpose, his legs telling him where to go and what would be good:
"my legs told me they wanted to walk.
'OK,' I said, 'which way?'
They said 'Towards the sun.'
'All right, then. Get on with it!'

....

The February air was cold and in dark places under the trees and hedgerows a faint bloom of white
told of last night's frost - there's nothing in the telling of this that could impart the huge sense
of freedom and escape that I and my legs felt that morning.
I said, 'It'll be a long walk.'
They replied, 'Just leave it to us. Leave it to us, and sing.'
So I sang, and on they went, rejoicing."



i'm certainly getting a fair bit of walking in at the minute. i think i might start listening to my legs a bit more and singing too. not in the middle of peckham high street, like, but...