Although I have achieved unclehood, children are not my favourite creatures. Which makes it a trifle startling that I suggest you see The Wind in the Willows.

I know what you're thinking. 'It's twee, I'll be bored, and if I do go, I'll look very old and be surrounded by noisy ankle-biters.' Wrong.

Like nearly everything else in town just now, it's based on a book. But it is a good one - and look who did the adaptation: Alan Bennett (right). His beautifully tailored script unearths layers of subtext that previous adaptations never dreamed of.

Theatrically literate adults in the audience will realise just how Mark Thompson's sets transform themselves from the riverbank, to the wild wood, to Ratty's house - hydraulics and revolves - but it is still, dare I say it, magical. Someone once accused director Nicholas Hytner's work of lacking heart ('Nice tech run, shame about the show') but although this is a massively complicated show, it doesn't stint on the emotional side. When I saw it, the children were spellbound.

Take Miss Jean Brodie's advice. Find an impressionable child and go. When they grow up, they'll have you to thank for introducing them to theatre.

The good news is that there are still some seats left for the final performances. There is no bad news.

(Photograph omitted)

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