Entering the little house of Lauren Child is like sliding between the covers
of one of her delicious books. In her world sofa cushions are fuchsia and
lime; there are cool chairs and madly-patterned lampshades and the curtains
are laser-cut white plastic flowers. Upstairs the walls are Clarice-Bean
pink and the stairs shiny black. Pastel fairy cakes spatter Child's oven
gloves. Even her back garden is floored with bright blue and white Moroccan
tiles, patterned like the flyleaves of her Charlie and Lola stories.
The author herself lives up to her surname, wearing a schoolgirlish grey
flannel minidress over jeans, with pink ballet pumps. At first she seems a
slightly ethereal presence, from a whimsical world lost to most adults.
But then, fingering the silk of a tiny embroidered Mongolian coat decorating
her stairs, Child talks about when she left the world of work and cheerful
children's books, and took time out: “I went to Ulan Bator in Mongolia. They
brought us to the police round-up centre where they collect all the feral
children who live in the heating tunnels under in the streets, because it's
so cold. The centre is like a sort of dog pound. It's really hideous and
they collect them all up in these old vans and bring them in. It's like
something out of Oliver Twist. I don't know how the children survive the
winter - not enough clothing, covered in dirt. As we arrived a new vanload
came in, and they looked so terrified. It was really, really upsetting. I
had no idea it was going to feel quite like that.”
A few years ago, Child was asked to be an ambassador for Unesco, as part of
the UN Programme for the Education of Children in Need. She travelled to
Mongolia and Mexico - “slums where you can buy anything from grenades to
humans”. She helped to gather the stories of street children, some of an
estimated 100 million around the world, children who are not sitting on
knees and being read I Will Never Not Ever Eat A Tomato every night. That
said, Child says that the street children (see www.mylifeisastory.org) had
many of the same issues as everyone else.
“We asked them if they'd like anything changed at the police centre: the
round-up, the delousing, and one boy said: ‘It would be great if afterwards
they gave us all the same T-shirt to wear, because some children get cool
T-shirts and others horrible ones'.” The children were rehoused in flats in
“families” made up of a group of kids with a house mother.
Before Unesco called, Child happened to have written a book about a homeless
rodent called That Pesky Rat. She and her publishers reissued the book, with
all the profits going to the children's programme. On the cover is the brown
rat looking embarrassed in a bad purple Pringle jumper. Inside he says:
“Brown rat looking for kindly owner - Would like a name. Would prefer no
baths. Will wear jumper if pushed.” Sartorial troubles are everywhere.
This is a typical example of the childlike mindset of Child, who retains
memories and instincts about the illogical logic of children that the rest
of us have buried. Her books resonate with truth, as well as being fun to
stare at with their mishmash of drawing, text and collage. She has produced
26 bestselling children's books, in 30 languages, and the animated Charlie
and Lola television series is now seen in 34 countries.
“The question that I must get asked the most, which I'm most dumbfounded
about, is: ‘How do you write for children when you don't have any
children?'” Child scowls down into her Moomintroll coffee mug. At 39, she
has a boyfriend, but no children so far. “Would you ask most writers that?
Do you ask a crimewriter if he's committed any murders recently? Childhood:
we've all been there.” She continues: “Writing is all about observation.
That's your job. I remember Alan Bennett saying writers are very cruel
people because they are always looking for those little oddnesses. It's a
kind of curiosity, that's what you have to have.”
Child's other talent is having an eye for stuff. She is a magpie collector of
swatches of material and old chairs. In deep drawers there are neatly folded
cloth samples with sequins, Fifties-style leaf motifs and shirts she has
bought for the pattern alone. “I collect a lot of things, always have done.
I go to jumble sales, quilting shops, second-hand shops. When I was tiny I
loved Laura Ashley. I used to buy the tiniest amount of fabric and then
wallpaper my doll's house.”
Child goes to sales in Wiltshire, where she was brought up and her parents
still live. “There'll be an old bag of fabric which is really exciting
because there's always something in there.” She extended her search to
garage sales in the Netherlands, “where they have this big May Day thing and
people put out junk, and they think it's outrageous if someone sells things
for more than £2.” In these crunchy times, Child is fashionably knacky at
crafts. She has a sewing machine and darts her shirts to make them fitted,
and makes her own cushions, “which always, somehow, have ears. I have a
friend who's a proper seamstress and she said you must make the covers a
tiny bit too small for the pads. But it was too late.”
Sensibly, Child gave up making clothes for herself at 19. “They never seemed
to look right. It's a bit like having your picture taken; you never look the
way you imagine.” She made what she thought was a lovely outfit for a
friend's wedding, a long skirt and jacket. “But it was the era of electric
blue. It was very bright blue. Oh dear.” This early trauma did not stop
Child setting up in the lampshade business when she was an unemployable
writer in a bedsit. (She also worked in a warehouse filling in the coloured
spots on Damien Hirst's paintings, one of which sold for £1.5million.) Child
and an actor friend decided to learn a new skill every week while they were
“resting” and met every Tuesday. Their skill-training stopped at lampshades.
They set up a company called Chandeliers for the People, and never made a
penny profit. “Our business plan was hopeless. But I don't regret it.” Three
exquisite lampshades are still in her living room, one on a kitschy glass
Eiffel Tower base.
This suits the white 1930s house with curved windows that Child bought fours
years ago in Belsize Park, when her books actually started to make money.
“I've always rented a room and it was very nice to own my own place .
Because I was such a late starter I felt that I couldn't buy a flat so I
completely over-borrowed and found a house. I love it.”
Her back garden, around a sort of Moroccan-tiled bar, is filled with bamboo, a
giant castor oil plant, jasmine and a lilac tree. But Child's aesthetic
rules apply even here: “The lilac was being killed by evergreen clematis, a
mass of white flowers that weirdly looked like lots of old toilet paper. My
Dad climbed up the tree and took it down. I'm so impressed by him - he's 70
now.”
Child felt happier when she moved close to the open spaces of Hampstead Heath
in London. “It's not because it's swankier here, but the root of me is in
the country. The trees and space make me feel uplifted.” Child loves to
wander for hours across the city, mapless and almost directionless, peering
in people's lighted windows, guessing their stories. Which is, of course,
her career, as well as something to do on the weekend.
My perfect weekend:
A long walk or sales shopping?
A long walk on Hampstead Heath
Big Brother or BBC4?
BBC4 sometimes; Big Brother never
Book or DVD?
Both - I'm currently reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral and watching Californication
Full English or croissant?
Neither - scrambled eggs on toast
Takeaway or Jamie Oliver?
Jamie Oliver - I often make his borlotti bean risotto
Pub or wine bar?
All pubs seem to be wine bars now!
Pencil skirt or pyjamas?
That depends - it was pyjamas all day yesterday; dressed up today
Lip gloss or lip balm?
I'm a lip-balm addict
Uggs or Louboutins?
Neither. I love Prada Wedges, and I always carry my Green Flash trainers too
I couldn't get through the weekend without ...
A slow start. I spend a very long time getting out of bed
