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Thankfuly, storytelling is not quite dead. I’m writing this from a train, a slow, London Midland train. So far I’ve heard two different men, one middle aged, one younger, both with sons of around 2 or 3 years of age. It’s heartening to witness that both dads didn’t use technology to keep their sons occupied. The middle aged dad spoke of steam engines and the train track they would build together when they got home, and the younger dad talked about animals; lions, giraffes and secret tunnels near Birmingham! Although both men based their words on facts; to their children they were enchanting stories, tales that fuel ideas, ideas that sprout wings and dance in imagination. Although they probably won’t remember this journey in years to come, somewhere, lodged in their mind is a sparkle, a glimmer of feeling that will allow them to to communicate, to draw pictures, to tell their own stories. Stories are vital. My dad used to tell me stories, and my mum read me books. From an early age a seed was sewn, and I have this to thank for my tincture of talent., however small it may be. Never stop telling stories. Never stop talkking. And most importantly, never stop listening. 

February 9, 2017

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