Key to the Kingdom

There is nothing so nice as being given a real gift. A gift as real as a basket of flowers...

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When some people give directions they sound like a bored teacher reading names from a register: take the third left, go straight for two hundred yards then turn right.

Other people, it's a performance. I asked this guy in Pennsylvania the best route back to my hotel. When he said I should start by turning right where the old MacReady house was, before they tore it down, I knew it would be something different. He took fifteen minutes to tell me, mixing geography, history and even a recipe. He let me go and I stopped to look at so many things he'd described that my journey took twice as long as it should.

The worst directions came from a stranger. They rang my door bell and when I opened the door, handed me a key.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's the key to the kingdom. There's a city, you see, and in that city is a district."

"Which city?"

"Hush!" they ordered. "In that district is a street, and off that street is a narrow lane. Along that lane is a yard; you'll see it, the gate is broken. In the yard is a house, and inside the house waits a room. Inside the room are flowers."

"Where's the city? How do I know what street you're talking about?"

They were at the end of the path now, standing at the gate, when they stopped. "The room is waiting: it's not like you have a choice. But keep the key. You'll be glad you did."