The extravagently bizarre Uncle books by JP Martin have been a big feature of my imaginative world ever since childhood. But I never in my life met another person who had even heard of them, let alone was an acolyte like me. Until now. Recently I picked up the new paperback reissue of the first two books and within a day Phil had spotted it on the coffee table and bought his own copy. "I need this in my life," he said. That's my boy. But it makes me wonder - is there a genetic predisposition to this stuff? The other day I was telling him about JP Martin's background as a Methodist missionary in Africa. "He obviously spent his time licking toads," said Phil.