Due to heavy traffic last night I didn't even attempt to get into the car. If I had attempted, of course, the chances are that I would have succeeded. What I mean is that I simply chose not to get into the car.
Instead, I put my rain coat on, left the building and started walking. Past shops, houses, trees, people. The usual kind of everyday landmarks. Soon I reached the pub and entered that place. I got myself a bottle of ale and sat down.
Soon, the room started filling up with other people. They all looked otherworldly to me. It was that kind of an evening. Then a short Scottish man arrived and introduced himself as Rab. "Hello Rab", I said. He told me he was the storyteller. "Then why are you Scottish?", I asked. "You'll need to ask my parents about that", he retorted, untroubled by the non-sequitor.
Rab then started to tell stories. He was a story teller. And a very good one at that.
We listened and watched in rapture as Rab regaled us with tales of land of sea. Of faeries and mermaids and mysterious old men with humps. None of these stories were remotely true but they all contained truths (much like this blog if I may venture). In these old tales, explained Rab, we find the historical truths of Scotland and Ireland. We believed him.
Rab asked if anyone had any questions. I asked him what faeries looked like. He told me that you could never recognise a faery because they looked just like you and me. He even suggested that they might in fact be slightly more beautiful than that even. I laughed uncomfortably and shook his hand. Then I thanked him for the stories.
"But why did you tell all these stories, Rab?", I asked.
"I'm a storyteller", he replied, simply.
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