In red class, books are open and eyes are open wider still.
The Guardian's attempt to test out a publisher's promise of indestructible children's books appears to be wobbling at the first hurdle: red class know that you must ALWAYS look after books.
The nursery children at Lauriston primary school in Hackney, east London, are examining a publishing development which could help to spell the end of clumsily sticky-taped pages, torn-out crucial paragraphs and favourite reads ruined by an accidentally spilt drink.
Books for Life, constructed from tear and water-resistant synthetic paper, are the brainchild of publisher and motorcyclist Simon Rosenheim, whose weatherproof bike map inspired thoughts of similarly resilient books for children. But Sylvie, Fraser, Max and Tiziah, sitting in red class's book corner under a gaily painted "Come and read" sign, all explain sternly that books must be treated with care.
"You mustn't rip or crunch them up," says Fraser, four, who keeps his books on a shelf, though "sometimes they fall over".
Max, three, who says his favourite story is Fix it Duck, explains: "You must look after books because they will get broken if you don't and then you can't read them."
The Guardian begins to feel like a library version of Nic o'Teen, tempting youngsters into book vandalism.
The trouble is, all four admit, younger brothers and sisters don't always understand the rules.
Tiziah, four, says: "Once I was reading a story and I had a glass of water and my little sister knocked it over and the book went all soggy."
We could, we agree, check what would happen to the indestructible books if really little children tried to rip them.
Smidge, a "virtually indestructible" tale of a pink creature who changes colour according to the food he eats, and Which Witch's Wand Works? are passed round for tentative tearing attempts by small hands.
Sure enough, the pages simply cannot be torn, bent or crumpled. The ripping efforts become more determined, but the books stay resolutely undamaged.
"It's magic," says Max. "They're very smooth," observes Sylvie, four, a fan of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, holding one of the pages against her cheek.
The Guardian, attempting to read Smidge aloud while noting down the children's observations, accidentally leaves a pen mark on one of the pages, prompting accusing looks. Fortunately, the book passes the test: the mark rubs off.
Jemma Dalton, nursery teacher at Lauriston, approves of the tear-resistant material. Every member of red class takes a story home each night in a yellow school bag for parents to read with them, and even with the best of care the books often become battered and in need of sticky-tape repairs.
"We tell the children how to turn the pages carefully, not to turn the corners over or bend them or throw them down. They do look after them, but after a while they do get worn."
Her concern, though, is that the children are taught to look after books as part of their education. "It is about learning to respect things. We always explain to them early on that if you tear your books or treat them badly there will be none left at nursery because they will all be ruined. If we used these books, we wouldn't tell the children they were indestructible."
Mr Rosenheim, of Meadowside Children's Books, says his invention is about preventing accidents and wear and tear, particularly in schools and libraries, rather than deliberate damage.
It is not children but adults who get a gleam in their eye when invited to test the tear and water-resistant claims, he says. "It appeals to macho telephone directory tearers of the world."
The Guardian swallows hard and puts aside 30 years of conditioning to pour a glass of water over Smidge. The liquid runs off, leaving the book unaffected.
