I relived some of my childhood pleasures and fears this weekend while watching a series of programmes about the author Roald Dahl.
In the days before JK Rowling, Dahl was the name you'd find on most youngsters' bookshelves, with titles such as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Twits and James & the Giant Peach.
A fascinating giant of a man (Dahl was 6"6' tall), I never knew he had gone through so many personal trials.
Feared lost over the African desert when his plane crashed during the Second World War, almost losing his son when a taxi hit his pram in New York, losing a daughter to measles and then working round the clock to make sure his first wife, actress Patricia Neal, recovered from a stroke many thought she wouldn't.
The series of documentaries on ITV3 was fascinating, and a reminder of how engrossing Dahl's tales were to a 10-year-old.
Then it was time for one of my childhood fears - the opening titles of Tales of the Unexpected, with images of voodoo dolls, illuminated skulls and tarot cards, which always unnerved me as a tot.
Dahl's short stories made up the early series, and he even introduced them by the atmospheric gloom of an open fire.
I watched three episodes last night (Sunday), and they were of varying quality. The first - and the best - involved Ron Moody as a wine expert who is determined to use his skills to win his rival's daughter's hand in marriage.
The second was a bizarre eavesdropping tale starring Elaine Stritch which wound up about ways to cheat at bridge, and the third a spurned artist's attempts to publicly humiliate the woman who is bored with him.
They were all entertaining in their own way, but now that I'm no longer scared by the opening titles, it has to be said that there was nothing particularly unexpected about any of the stories on show.
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