Mr Clumsy (and Mr Fussy) by Roger Hargreaves

Dear Mr Hargreaves,

As a father of two small children, and as a former child myself, I have generally enjoyed your Mr Men series of books, notwithstanding the often unnecessarily verbose text, which makes some of them feel like novellas and inspires a sense of dread when I am asked to read three of them in succession before bedtime, and has led to my subconscious use of 79 words in this particular paragraph when 10 would clearly, obviously, and undoubtedly have sufficed.

However, that is neither here nor there. The reason for my letter is that I wish to complain about an unfair national stereotype perpetuated by your books.

From my repeated readings of the Mr Men canon, I have learnt that Mr Happy lives in Happyland, Mr Clever lives in Cleverland and Mr Nonsense lives in Nonsenseland. This makes sense, in the same way that Thais live in Thailand, Finns live in Finland and northern ire lives in Northern Ireland.

So, why does Mr Clumsy live in Australia?

That’s right, Mr Clumsy does not live in Clumsyland. He lives in Australia.

This, Mr Hargreaves, is nothing but offensive national stereotyping.  

You introduce Mr Clumsy as a dishevelled, long-lost cousin of Mr Fussy. This boorish Australian layabout lobs on Mr Fussy’s doorstep and asks to stay. He appears unable, or perhaps unwilling, to comb his hair, tie his shoelaces, or engage in any of the other basic functions expected in a civilised society. When he later stars in his own book, Mr Clumsy is so dense that he puts a letter from the postman in the toaster and tries to read a piece of bread.

Which brings me to another point. I understand the word ‘clumsy’ to mean ‘awkward’, or ‘ungainly’, but you apparently think it means ‘idiotic’. This character is effectively ‘Mr Stupid’, but you clearly realised that introducing Mr Stupid from Australia would be crossing the line, so you softened his name while retaining his moronic nature. Spilling your beer while dropping a catch during a game of backyard cricket is clumsy Australian behaviour; toasting an envelope is simply inane.

Please understand, Mr Hargreaves, that although we recently had a prime minister who tried to eat an onion like it was an apple, and a deputy prime minister who was unaware that he was a citizen of New Zealand, we are not all idiots. I will admit that two of the four members of my household are unable to tie their shoelaces, but this is because they are aged one and two respectively. The fact that they are Australian is purely coincidental.

Perhaps political correctness had not yet gone mad when you introduced Mr Clumsy in 1976, but since then it has become certifiable. As such, I request that when the series is next reprinted, Mr Clumsy should come from Clumsyland rather than Australia. At the very least he should hold dual citizenship, which admittedly would preclude him from running for Australian parliament, but in any case we have enough oafish behaviour in that institution without adding Mr Clumsy to the mix.

I have been told, Mr Hargreaves, that you died 30 years ago, and I therefore understand that you may face certain difficulties in replying to my letter. Nevertheless, I shall await a response via the late mail.

Yours sincerely,

Mr Offended

Roger Hargreaves predicts the US presidents

The 43rd book in the Mr Men series was Mr Cheerful. The 43rd US president was that grinning idiot George W Bush.

The 44th book in the Mr Men series was Mr Cool. The 44th US president is Barack Obama.

The 45th book in the Mr Men series was Mr Rude. The 45th US president will be Donald Trump.

Look at this sequence and tell me the late Roger Hargreaves wasn't Nostradamus. (Well, along with his son Adam, who now writes the series).

Mr Rude is a weird shade of orangey-red. He insults everyone. He has a doormat, but has crossed out the word “WELCOME” and scribbled “GO AWAY”.

If he met someone overweight he would shout, “Fatty! You’re supposed to take the food out of the fridge, not eat the fridge as well!"

The good news is that by the end of the story, Mr Rude’s rage has eased, and Mr Happy has taught him manners. (Mr Happy is 3rd in the Mr Men series, so maybe Trump needs to spend some time at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial).

The even better news is that the 46th book in the Mr Men series is Mr Good.

So, Bernie Sanders for 2020?

Mr Tickle by Roger Hargreaves

Global franchises start innocuously enough. In Kentucky during the depression, Harland Sanders threw a few herbs and spices into some gas-station fried chicken. In Sweden during the war, a teenage Ingvar Kamprad saw his first bloody Allen key and the bloody flatpack was inflicted on the world.

And in England just after the end of the swinging sixties, six-year-old Adam Hargreaves asked his dad: “What does a tickle look like?”

His father, Roger, was the creative director at an advertising firm. If Mad Men has taught us anything, it’s that the Don Drapers of this world know all about slap and tickle. Here was the perfect excuse for Roger to go away and do some “research”.

But no, this was Roger Hargreaves, not Roger Sterling. He wasn’t like that. And nor was he an “ask your mother” kind of dad. He did indeed go off and indulge his passion, but it was a passion for drawing, and he came up with an answer to Adam’s question.

Mr Tickle. Orange body, long arms, blue hat. Incorrigible groper.

Roger Hargreaves realised that Mr Tickle opened all sorts of doors, and not just the kitchen door from his bedroom so he could raid the biscuit tin.

If ever there was a series waiting to happen it was this.

There was a simple formula for almost infinite ideas: Mr (insert characteristic here). Which was later expanded to add Little Miss (insert characteristic here).

Roger Hargreaves died in 1988, at the age of 53. Adam, by then in his 20s, eventually carried on the family business and wrote new books for the series.

And he’s done a good job. But I was a child of the 80s, so to me, the likes of Mr Cool and Mr Rude will always be impostors. Even the few of Roger’s own works published after his death – Mr Brave to Mr Cheerful – don’t sit well with me. Anything after Mr Slow, I consider non-canon.

In 1971, Mr Tickle was the first. He tickled the policeman without getting shot. He tickled the butcher without losing an arm. He hid outside a school window, reached into the classroom for a tickle, and did not face criminal charges.

And he tickled my fancy. Sure, he spent his days interfering with strangers, but he did it with a smile. They were more innocent times. 

Since then, there has been a TV series, special editions, merchandise, parodies. And it all began with Mr Tickle. He is the Mr who started a global franchise.