Children’s stories are the best stories. When I was looking for a 3 year old’s birthday present recently I realised I just wanted to read them all for myself. They were beautiful, but not naive or innocent. They were the truth.

My favourites were Oliver Jeffers, The Heart and the Bottle especially.

The best ones exist someplace between magic and reality. Or maybe where reality is magic.

When we move on into our adult lives (and stop reading picture books for ourselves), the magic happens when we feel wonder again with a child’s eyes.

Watching Moonrise Kingdom (or any Wes Anderson movie) is like that for me. His stories are filled with a childish heart, the houses are doll houses, the characters are earnest, the music whimsical and everyone stays in uniform.

And in this movie the only thing in the young girl’s suitcase when she runs away are her favourite books.

In comparison all the adult characters seem flawed somehow, either unhappy, lonely, harsh. Bruce Willis as the sad policeman sums it up to the love stricken protagonist with “I can’t argue against anything you’re saying – but I don’t have to, because you’re twelve years old.”

He knows the kid’s right. But that’s not how adults live, is it?

Although I am lucky enough to know one adult who doesn’t always live by those rules.

Seeing the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the MCA with someone who will find the most ridiculous position in front of the myriad mirrors that twist and distort, play tricks on your eyes, and crawl around & under artworks for a different perspective or indeed the best view, showed me again that it’s all more fun with a childlike wonder.