Someone I don't know very well (a new partner of a close friend) visited my house over Christmas, and for a while I couldn't understand his guarded behaviour - after 30 minutes or so, it clicked. He'd never been to my house before and had no idea what I did for a living. In my concern for his wellbeing, I suddenly looked around the room as if I were looking through his eyes.
A large elephant in one chair, a plain callico stuffed figure the size of a child in another, skulls, rabbits, a strange purple cushion creature, snakey medusa crown and tiny voodoo like dolls met my gaze.
"Um - I think I should explain, I'm a puppeteer."
His relief was palpable. He must have thought I was a strange friendless individual, who, despite being in middle age, surrounded herself with freakish toys.
I was reminded of when I was filming the first series of Teletubbies, and the four of us lived in a Cotswold hotel for the season. Seated in the lounge one evening, awaitng our supper, with a bowl of peanuts in the centre of the table, we spontaneously formed scuttling little dinosaur creatures with our hands, who competed and cavorted around the table top, each trying to accumulate the largest pile of peanuts, stealing them from each other, inventing games, exuding triumph and pathos by turn. All in silence.
We were suddenly aware that we were holding the gaze of most of the other patrons in the room. The waitress, noticing this, nodded towards us with her head, and explained to the room in a conspiratorial whisper, "Puppeteers ..." An understanding "Ahaaaaaa" was the reply.
It is a strange thing that people like us puppeteers cannot resist bringing things to life - are we more aware of, or more terrified of death - or are we in greater denial than the rest of the grown-ups?
I choose these words carefully (it's my job!) because when I play with children, the vast majority are more than eager to find the life - the stories - within things. Is it because they are the furthest away from the end of their own story?
The thing doesn't have to be humaniform - when I work in schools, the children and I can find stories within pens, balls, lamps, shoes, anything . . . sometimes an object's character or story seems obvious, sometimes you have to look a little harder to find it - I expect there are more of us who have played with one of those corkscrews with arms and a wee hollow head, for example, than have come close to inventing something on a par with Chaplin's wonderful bread roll dance.
If a child comes into my house for the first time, they are either completely unphased by the tools of my trade that populate and share my living space, or delighted that an adult has not forgotten how to breathe being into inanimate objects, and is therefore probably up for play.
There's something to be learned, I think, from this child's eye view, and certainly a lot of fun to be had - so go on, no-one's looking, what characters live in your lounge . . . ?
Professor Smedley of Storytelling