Costumes, tantrums and telly: have we lost the real meaning of World Book Day?

I love books. But I kind of hate World Book Day. Not as much as my wife hates it, but we’ll come to that.

The core aim is utterly noble: to provide all children with a book for themselves. When you consider that a survey in December 2017 found one in eight disadvantaged children in the UK do not have single book of their own, the need for such a scheme is obvious.

Designated by UNESCO as a global celebration of reading and of the power of books it is, as the agency itself puts it, a way to “stand up for creativity, diversity and equal access to knowledge.” What’s not to like about that?

Oddly, for everyone outside the UK and Ireland World Book Day isn’t today but is on 23 April. Classic Britain – trying to steal a march on everyone else and forcing the Irish to tag along.

Weirdly too, when the rest of the planet gets round to it, it becomes World Book and Copyright Day, which sounds like a jamboree for intellectual property lawyers and librarians.

But even putting these discrepancies aside, I worry that we have lost the real meaning of World Book Day.

After all, the reality for many parents is the dawning sense of dread which arrives a few days in advance when it becomes clear that all primary age schoolchildren are expected to go to class dressed as their favourite book character.

This can be awkward if, for instance, your son’s favourite character is a train – or indeed a caterpillar (as it was for mine last year). If you child is into Malory Towers, things can be easier: just wear your normal uniform darling with a different tie. By the age of eight, there are bound to be at least half a dozen Matildas and an equal number of assorted Harry Potter characters – this in itself can cause tears when it turn out that Hermiones number 2, 3 and 4 all have better wands.

Debates about costumes can frequently turn into tantrums. Having got home last night at 10.30pm and departed today at 7.15am, I have – I confess – avoided this year’s row, primarily concerning the viability of some aged white tights that our nine-year-old intended as part of a Ballet Shoes get-up. I remain in blissful ignorance over the outcome of that "discussion". My wife has borne the brunt, I’m afraid: her words on the matter might be choicer than mine.

For those not inclined to spend hours creating bespoke outfits, the answer to the World Book Day costume conundrum lies with a bit of internet shopping, with manufacturers having cashed in on the desires of small children everywhere to look like the Gruffalo or a witch.

There is an irony in this, of course, in that you might think that money spent on a Fantastic Mr Fox costume which doubles as a fire hazard could perhaps be diverted into buying, well, a book or two. Just a thought.

As if this isn’t gripey enough, the snob in me also rails at the fact that many children appear not to dress up as book characters at all, but rely on the fact that their favourite film or cartoon icon can probably be found in book form if you look hard enough. I passed Fireman Sam, Elsa from Frozen and Spider-Man on my way to work today; and while I appreciate the latter started life in a comic-book, I’m guessing the three-year-old struggling with his eye-mask is more used to seeing his hero on a screen.

I know moaning about a worthy, charitable endeavour that brings joy to children hardly redounds to my credit.

And that’s why I am sitting at my desk dressed as the Grinch.