I grew up in a suburb without any kind of public transport whatsoever. As you can imagine, getting around was quite difficult if you didn’t drive a car – a problem acutely felt by us children, who didn’t drive cars. One day, however, our prayers were answered when some municipal workers, digging trenches for underground cables, struck what seemed to be a giant rock. Rumour spread quickly that a Book Monster had been found, and suddenly everyone in our neighbourhood was helping to excavate this wonderful creature using small spades and brushes, careful not to damage its colourfully painted ceramic body.

Every suburb has a Book Monster, though they are almost impossible to find, and nobody really knows where they come from. Archaeologists say they were made in ancient times, when people first started reading and writing using clay tablets. That makes sense, because our own Monster only ever moved when someone was reading a book nearby; in fact, it would do anything to hear a good story.

Going to school was no longer a problem. The Book Monster arrived at each front lawn in the morning; kids would climb dutifully onto its back, take out our library books and start reading. Straight away we would hear a whirring pulse deep in its belly, then the clack-clack-clacking of its tongue like castanets; the big eyes would spring open, the horns would belch fireworks and – depending on how good our books were – we could easily clock speeds of fifty miles per hour or more, leaping effortlessly over cars, power-lines and excitable dogs. We always took the longest routes to school and never failed to arrive on time.

Of course, these days our suburb is much larger, the roads more complicated and local government prefers more sensible public transport system with accurate timetables and fare management. Consequently, our Book Monster has long since retired underground, peacefully asleep in some unknown place, maybe waiting to hear a good story, and then again, maybe not. Who can say? What’s really interesting is that people still read books on trains and buses: so deeply engrossed in each story, you might easily believe that this is the very fuel that keeps us moving from point to point. I guess it’s hard to break the habit, because we all have such fond memories of a time when riding a prehistoric book-powered monster to school was the only way to go.