The Best Stories Always Start With, "Wait, Let Me Tell You Something..."

There are two kinds of storytellers. 

The first one gives you the headlines. 

"I went to Durban. It was nice." 

Done. 

Then there are South African storytellers. 

You ask them how the trip was and, somehow, twenty minutes later you're hearing about a petrol station pie in Harrismith, a cousin they bumped into by accident and the security guard who looked exactly like Bra Hugh from next door. 

You still haven't heard about Durban. 

And strangely... you don't mind. 

I've often wondered why we're like that. 

Why we refuse to tell stories in a hurry. 

Maybe it's because, to us, the story isn't just about what happened. 

It's about how it happened. 

Who was there. 

Who said what. 

Who laughed first. 

Who nearly burnt the meat. 

The details matter. 

The journey matters. 

The people matter. 

Somewhere along the way, we've convinced ourselves that getting to the point is the point. 

Finish the meeting. 

Send the email. 

Skip to the summary. 

Give me the short version. 

But I've noticed something. 

The stories I remember most have never had a short version. 

My grandmother could turn a five-minute answer into an evening's entertainment. She had a remarkable ability to begin a story in one decade and finish it in another. Every now and then someone would gently interrupt and ask, "Gogo... what happened in the end?" 

She'd smile, wave her hand dismissively and say, "I'm getting there." 

And she always did. 

The funny thing is, nobody ever wanted her to hurry. 

Because the destination was never the reason we were listening. 

We stayed for the storytelling. 

Looking back now, I realise those moments taught me something that no clock ever could. 

Some things become richer when they're given room to unfold. 

A conversation. 

A friendship. 

A family tradition. 

Even silence, shared between people who don't need to fill every second with words. 

Maybe that's why a table never empties the moment the food is finished. 

Maybe that's why one cup of tea somehow becomes three. 

Maybe that's why a single Castle Milk Stout has accompanied countless conversations that lasted long after the sun went down. 

Not because anyone was watching the time. 

Because nobody had found a good reason to end the moment. 

We spend so much of our lives trying to save time. 

Yet the moments we treasure most are usually the ones that asked for a little more of it. 

One more story. 

One more question. 

One more laugh before everyone heads home. 

Perhaps that's something we've always understood without ever needing to say it. 

Not every moment needs to be efficient. 

Some moments simply deserve to be experienced in full. 

And maybe that's the real richness. 

Not how quickly we move through life. 

But how deeply we're willing to live it. 

So the next time someone says, "Wait, let me tell you something," don't interrupt with, "What's the short version?" 

Sit back. 

Listen properly. 

You might discover that the story wasn't the only thing being shared. 

Sometimes, what's really being shared is time. 

And time, when it's shared, has a way of becoming rich. 

Castle Milk Stout. Savour Your Richness.