I have no wish to besmirch the reputation of a story-teller and you shouldn't speak ill of the dead etc but I have to say that there needs to be a voice crying in the wilderness saying, 'Hang on a minute. Was he really that good?'
My reasoning is more emotional than logical. I recall those Sunday afternoons (1959 onwards) when Noggin the Nog came on TV. I do respect the views of some of my friends who think this was the best thing since whatever was the metaphor before bread-slicing became popular. But.
To me, if it was possible to incarnate depression, the tone of the narrator of Noggin caught it bang on. Experts (OK Wikipedia) tell me I was scared and haunted by the bassoon score and the brilliance of the story-telling. No, I wasn't. I was bored and, although I probably didn't know it then, brought down by its moodiness. I never went anywhere near Bagpuss and The Clangers.
So RIP Mr P. Sorry. Never buttered my muffin.