Older, but no wiser

How bizarre.

Last night I was quoting Richard Bach on dragons and knights, enchantments and adventures, and spent the journey in to work this morning engrossed in the opening chapters of his own real-life fairy story.

“The trouble is,” I thought to myself as my train pulled into King’s Cross Station “I don’t want to work. I want to live a fairy story. I want to believe in destiny, in happy-ever-after, in quests and battles and love-at-first sight; I want to have adventures, slay dragons and rescue princesses – even those that live in red brick houses instead of castles and ride trains instead of white horses.”

And there it was, right in front of me: a dragon, clear as day. A real, fairy-tale dragon, gaping mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth reaching out towards me, grinning fiercely, daring me to believe.

Heaven knows how it got there. A child’s toy Tyrannosaurus Rex, about a foot high, wedged between a drainpipe and the outer wall of the station at the side of the track where only rail maintenance staff would go, and directly in my line of sight. A tiny symbol almost lost amidst the bustle and grime of a 21st century working day.

Almost lost, but not quite.

“See? I’m real.” he seemed to be saying. “Your dragons, your fairy stories – they exist. All you have to do is open your eyes – and your mind – and look in the right place. Catch me if you can...”