8 quirky British kids' books where the villain is actually the funniest character

Long before Diary of a Wimpy Kid made it cool to root for the underdog, British kids were already cackling over a truly terrible man with a truly terrible beard: Mr. Gum. These gloriously illustrated chapter books are the kind of sticky-fingered contraband you'd pass around Year 4 because they felt slightly forbidden—absurd, cheeky, and utterly addictive. If you're hunting for British children's humour books Mr Gum Sydney collectors actually want, you've stumbled into the right dusty corner of the internet.

The Verdict: These are books where the villain steals every scene, the hero is a talking dog with dignity issues, and the whole chaotic mess feels like Roald Dahl's mischievous cousin showed up to Christmas dinner three sheets to the wind.

You're a Bad Man, Mr. Gum! — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: The book that started it all—meet the nastiest man in Lamonic Bibber, and somehow can't stop laughing at him.

This is where you meet Mr. Gum: a grotty old horror who hates children, animals, fun, and basically anything that brings joy to the human experience. The plot? He's trying to poison a dog. Yes, really. But Andy Stanton writes with such manic energy—random asides, made-up words, fourth-wall breaks—that you're grinning even as you're appalled. David Tazzyman's scratchy illustrations look like they were drawn by a hyperactive kid during detention, which is exactly right. The physical copies have a satisfying heft for a skinny paperback, and the slightly rough paper stock feels properly "kidlit" in a way modern glossy editions never quite nail. Explore our current copy of You're a Bad Man, Mr. Gum!

Mr Gum and the Cherry Tree — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: Mr. Gum declares war on a beloved tree, and the town's weirdest residents unite to stop him—peak British absurdism.

This one's got everything: a sentient cherry tree, a nine-fingered millionaire who lives in a lighthouse, and Mr. Gum wielding an axe with murderous intent. The genius of Stanton's writing is that he trusts kids to get sophisticated jokes—there are references that'll sail over an eight-year-old's head but land perfectly for the parent reading aloud. The paperback editions from this era have a nice, broken-in feel; corners get dog-eared fast because kids actually use these books. You'll find marginalia in preloved copies—little drawings of Mr. Gum's beard, corrections to spelling mistakes (Stanton deliberately misspells things for comic effect). Explore our current copy of Mr Gum and the Cherry Tree

Mr. Gum and the Goblins — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: Mr. Gum recruits actual goblins to terrorise the town—it's as bonkers as it sounds, and twice as funny.

When your villain's master plan involves teaming up with subterranean goblins who smell like old socks and mouldy cabbage, you know you're in for something special. This book leans into full-throttle chaos: characters shout in ALL CAPS, the narrator openly admits he's making bits up, and there's a running gag about "the truth" being an unreliable concept. The illustrations get properly grotty here—Tazzyman's goblins look genuinely gross in that perfect children's-book way. Older paperback copies sometimes have slight yellowing on the pages, which honestly adds to the charm; these aren't meant to be pristine coffee-table books, they're meant to be devoured under the covers with a torch. Explore our current copy of Mr. Gum and the Goblins

Mr. Gum and the Dancing Bear — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: A mysterious dancing bear arrives in town, and naturally Mr. Gum wants to exploit it for profit—vintage villainy.

By book five, Stanton's confidence is off the charts. The plot barely makes sense (there's a bear, it dances, things escalate), but the joy is in the journey. This is where the series really finds its rhythm—the supporting cast of weirdos (Friday O'Leary with her electric muscles, the enigmatic Jonathan Ripples) get proper development. The physical books from Farshore have slightly thicker covers than earlier editions, which means they survive playground swaps better. You'll sometimes find these with faint pencil marks where kids have underlined their favourite silly words—"lamonical," "billionty," "jamface." That's the sign of a book that's been properly loved. Explore our current copy of Mr. Gum and the Dancing Bear

Mr. Gum and the Power Crystals — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: Mr. Gum discovers mystical power crystals and becomes even more insufferable—somehow this works brilliantly.

This one gets genuinely weird. There are crystals that grant wishes, a subplot about the nature of evil, and a villain who's already so cartoonishly terrible that giving him actual magical powers feels like overkill. But Stanton's genius is that he never lets sincerity creep in—the moment things threaten to get meaningful, someone farts or a character called Alan Taylor (who's just a picture of a man in a suit) appears for no reason. Preloved paperbacks of this title often have that perfect "read multiple times" spine crease. The pages feel slightly softer, like they've been thumbed through on rainy afternoons when homework could wait. Explore our current copy of Mr. Gum and the Power Crystals

Mr. Gum and the Biscuit Billionaire — Andy Stanton

Quick Verdict: Mr. Gum inherits a biscuit fortune and immediately spends it on making everyone miserable—peak British humour.

This later entry in the series shows Stanton isn't running out of steam. The premise—what if the worst person you know suddenly became rich?—is genuinely clever social commentary disguised as utter nonsense. There are jokes about capitalism that'll land differently when you reread this as an adult. The Farshore editions have a nice matte finish on the covers that resists fingerprints better than glossy alternatives, though honestly, a few greasy fingerprints are part of the charm with these books. They're meant to be eaten alongside actual biscuits while giggling uncontrollably. Explore our current copy of Mr. Gum and the Biscuit Billionaire

What's for Dinner, Mr. Gum? — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: Mr. Gum opens a restaurant serving the worst food imaginable—somehow the funniest concept in the series.

The idea of Mr. Gum running a restaurant is so perfectly, horribly wrong that it's brilliant. The menu descriptions alone are worth the admission price: dishes made from things you'd find behind a radiator, served with contempt. This book has some of Tazzyman's best illustrations—the restaurant scenes are gorgeously disgusting, all grease stains and suspicious-looking gravy. Egmont editions from this era have a slightly different paper quality; you can feel the difference between publishers if you're nerdy enough to compare (and if you're reading this, you absolutely are). Explore our current copy of What's for Dinner, Mr. Gum?

Mr Gum and the Secret Hideout — Andy Stanton and David Tazzyman

Quick Verdict: A mysterious hideout, naturally belonging to Mr. Gum, becomes the centre of another gloriously silly adventure.

By this point in the series, you either get the joke or you don't. If you're still here, you're part of the club—the readers who understand that sometimes the best children's literature is the stuff that refuses to take itself seriously. The "secret hideout" is predictably gross and wonderful, and there's a running gag about secrecy that Stanton milks for everything it's worth. These books age beautifully in physical form; a five-year-old paperback looks distinguished rather than tatty. The slight wear on the spine, the faint smell of old bookshelf, the way the pages fall open to favourite scenes—that's the patina we're here for. Explore our current copy of Mr Gum and the Secret Hideout

Here's the thing about hunting for British children's humour books—especially Mr. Gum titles—in Sydney: you're not just buying a book, you're buying a specific flavour of chaos that Australian kids don't always get exposed to. These aren't the polished, focus-grouped children's books designed by committee. They're the literary equivalent of letting your kid stay up past bedtime eating too many Tim Tams. Slightly bad for you, absolutely worth it, and guaranteed to create memories. The villain's always the funniest character because Andy Stanton understands what Roald Dahl knew: kids don't want boring heroes, they want magnificent disasters. And Mr. Gum, with his terrible beard and worse attitude, is the most magnificent disaster of all.