There are few sounds more life-enhancing than the uncontrollable chuckle of a small child; the one that emerges from deep in the belly, the one that lacks any self-conciousness, as if their whole being has been consumed by a giggle.
These days, I’m sad to say, I rarely induce such an effect on my daughter. In fact it’s quite the reverse. Already, aged six – six! – she has adopted the teenage eye-roll. My finest joke, my most carefully constructed witticism is met not with laughter, but with a look. A look and a drawn-out ‘Daaaad, you’re not funny’ (once she added ‘anymore’ to the end of this sentence. Oh, the agonies of parenthood).
Thankfully, our house is not completely bereft of laughter. Not since Dave Pigeon landed on our doorstep. This is a charmingly daft tale, guaranteed – even in early onset teenage six-year-olds – to induce those uncontrollable, carefree giggles. It follows the eponymous Dave who, alongside his friend Skipper, seeks to oust a nasty cat so they can have unfettered access to the house and, more importantly, the biscuits.