Christopher Milne, A. A. Milne’s son and the real-life Christopher Robin, wrote an autobiography called The Enchanted Places.  A lot of its traffic is the disparity between the Winnie the Pooh children’s books and his real life.  This is a beautiful scene: On my fifth birthday I had been given a shining suit of armour, and lived in it, almost went to bed in it, was in tears at the prospect of being unstrapped from it.  “One day,” said my father to his tiny St. George, “you will be thinking of nothing but cricket.”  I stared at him aghast.  My breast plate, my back plate, the wonderful things that protected my arms (even though slightly too long and rather scratchy round the wrist), my helmet with its red plume and the visor that I could pull down when danger threatened: how could I ever abandon these?  “Nothing but cricket,”  I said in amazement.  “Not armour?”
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Christopher Milne, A. A. Milne’s son and the real-life Christopher Robin, wrote an autobiography called The Enchanted Places.  A lot of its traffic is the disparity between the Winnie the Pooh children’s books and his real life.  This is a beautiful scene:

On my fifth birthday I had been given a shining suit of armour, and lived in it, almost went to bed in it, was in tears at the prospect of being unstrapped from it.  “One day,” said my father to his tiny St. George, “you will be thinking of nothing but cricket.”  I stared at him aghast.  My breast plate, my back plate, the wonderful things that protected my arms (even though slightly too long and rather scratchy round the wrist), my helmet with its red plume and the visor that I could pull down when danger threatened: how could I ever abandon these?  “Nothing but cricket,”  I said in amazement.  “Not armour?”

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