17 February 2020
For Christmas last year I bought my daughter The Last Unicorn, a tale I had enjoyed much in my youth in its cartoon incarnation. Reading the book aloud for her I remembered how frightened my brother Packie and I were of the Red Bull, although now the name has been taken by a beverage. It was giant, menacing, and far too real even though it was a cartoon. Reading the book I did not meet the same terror, perhaps because the book was often including humor that was not in the cartoon. Not on the level of Terry Prachett's fantasy humor, but making me chuckle none the less.
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