Every adult knows what is meant by "the oldest profession" - which presumably means that the storytellers, practitioners of the oldest art, didn't get paid for their work [no change there, then]. But as ancient crafters of ancient words they obviously belong in a place dedicated to Ancient Technology, viz. The Ancient Technology Centre at Cranborne, which is where they will be, not only on Special Saturdays organised by the Cric-Crac Club of London, but also on other odd dates, once a month, through the summer until the autumn, and especially on the Field of Stories Day as part of The Sting in the Tale Festival. [Monday 16 June, Tuesday 8 July, Monday 18 August, Thursday 4 September, Thursday 2 October, Thursday 6 November - unfortunately, the last three clash with Southampton Story Club at the Art House Cafe, to which I owe primary loyalty; the Field of Stories will be on Wednesday 20 August at the Ancient Technology Centre.]
Normally, I use this blog to talk about paid gigs. What goes on at the the three storyclubs I attend each month [Southampton Story Club, Wykeham Tales in Winchester and Heads and Tales Storytelling Cafe in Ringwood] I commemorate on the appropriate facebook pages.
But the first Sting in the Tale Special was last night, and deserves a mention, since it doesn't yet have a facebook page. Suzanne told The Name of the Dragon; Taprisha told a tale of Alfred the Great combining storytelling with espionage; Fiona from Stroud told a marvellous Afghan story, which I am stealing, about a King's attempt to teach a poor man that he shouldn't take each day as it comes. Graham revealed the erotic nature of the Eels from Ware [not from Plaistow, in fact, though that was his title]. Jill told Donkey into Man. Tony Horitz told Kate Crackernuts. And I told my version of Tsar Saltan, which derives from Post Wheeler's Russian Wonder Tales on Surlalune, rather than the Pushkin poem [among other things, I import Baba Yaga pretending to be the Old Nursemaid]. And the fire barely smoked...
