When I was six, my uncle brought me a Paddington Bear from London. He wore a floppy hat, blue coat and yellow galoshes. Around day two of ownership, one of the yellow boots went missing. Several decades later I still have Paddington, minus the boot.

When my uncle married and had children I tried passing on Paddington to them.

Within an hour, Paddington was returned with a note saying there was no room in the mansion (cough, house) for Paddington. Poor Paddington. He was stuffed back in the closet and forgotten about.

These days I have a daughter of my own and Paddington holds a special place in her room — on the top shelf in her closet in the far left corner under a pile of dust.

It’s nice to see that someone has dusted off the old bear from Peru in the form of the movie Paddington, directed by Paul King. That Paddington is nowhere near as cute as my own Paddington Bear.

When Paddington first came out, I dragged my daughter and her friend all the way from the East End to Neptune Cinema in Dockyard to see it. Since Neptune is often empty at the best of times we did not bother to buy tickets online. When we arrived there was a long line snaking outside.

“Mummy, why are those kids up there crying?” my daughter asked. I soon learned when I stepped up to the ticket kiosk. The movie was sold out.

Several weeks later, a friend tried to take my daughter and his daughter to Paddington. He thought he would arrive early and let the girls horse around for a bit before the 4.30pm showing.

This time when he stepped up to the ticket kiosk he was almost trampled by people leaving. Paddington had started two hours earlier than expected.

Later, I asked my daughter: “Were you disappointed?”

“No,” she said with a jaded look. “I’m getting used to it.”

On the third attempt they were finally successful, mostly. This time the ticket kiosk opened only 15 minutes before curtain time. When the movie started there were still people in line waiting for tickets.

“Now I’ll never know how Paddington got to London,” my friend grumbled.

And I’ll never know where Paddington’s yellow boot went. He really is a bear of mystery.