Dependable, plucky Tintin is surrounded by a crowd of eccentric goodies and dastardly baddies and their rip-roaring, globe-trotting adventures were Harriet Whitehorn’s ultimate comfort read
Blistering barnacles! Ten thousand thundering typhoons! Is there anything better than one of Hergé’s Tintin books? I certainly didn’t think so, aged ten, when my idea of heaven was lying on my bed, devouring a Curly Wurly and a Tintin book. And I went on reading them all through my teens; at one point, I covered my ugly wardrobe doors with pages from King Ottokar’s Sceptre. A friend pronounced it as sacrilege. More recently, I bowed to formidable family pressure to get our dog Tatty, mostly because she looks like a black version of Snowy and so I thought she might lead us to adventures.
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