“Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred.”
Pooh thought for a little.
“How old shall I be then?”
“I promise,” he said.
I've known Pooh as long as I can remember. I don't know which way round it was, but I felt Pooh as kindred. I felt his humility and patience, his friendliness, his awe of the busy, bustling characters. His penchant for poetry, his passion for honey and condensed milk, his deep, unshakeable loyalty to his friends. His gratitude for simple things like birdsong and sunshine. His musy, mazy life. To me he was not a stuffed bear but a person, a person I recognised. No other childhood characters have endured in me the way he has.
So happy 90th birthday, Pooh. I haven't forgotten.