Not exactly THE first house of stories, but my own first house of stories, where as a small child too young to write anything down I would lie awake at night making up stories in my head. I've been visiting my parents, who still live in the house I grew up in. My dad's just had a birthday, so we went over with a new book of Punch cartoons, knowing that he'd like one.
The house hasn't changed much. Last night I lay in my old bed again, but this time I didn't make up stories, I just marvelled at the fact that my mum (who is as old as her tongue and a little older than her teeth, as she always said) still makes up fantastically comfy beds.
I was also able to give them their copy of URCHIN AND THE RAVEN WAR, which felt a bit special. Mum will get to it before Dad this time. He's got to work his way through Punch.
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