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The first books I remember reading were Ladybird Classics - highly abridged, illustrated fairy tales in small board-bound books, which I devoured both figuratively and literally (well, only the corners of the covers literally). Which of those got me started, I can't say (possibly either The Magic Porridge Pot or Rapunzel, as those stick most in my mind even now), but by the time I started primary school I was reading well ahead of my age, and reading anything and everything I could lay my hands on (which was rather a lot), including the family dictionary (about the size of a ream of A4 paper, beautifully bound and illustrated, and possibly repsonsible for making me appreciate books as beautiful objects), James Herriott and the usual suspects such as Peter Pan; Alice in Wonderland; The Lion, The Witch and The Wardobe; Stig of The Dump; Enid Blyton's Famous Five; Ruby Ferguson's Jill series and Patricia Leitch's Jinny series (which I blame for a lot). Oh, and any and every book of Arthurian myth (I think it started with Roger Lancelyn Green's books, went on to T H White and from there Mallory) and Celtic myth I could find.
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