One evening in a cold school hall, a group of parents and teachers gathered to hear Tim Gill talking about his work and ideas.

He wants our children to be allowed to take risks; his research powerfully points to the importance of children learning how to negotiate their environment. I couldn’t agree more.

I will nail my colours to the community mast: I opposed the play area on the Common, and will continue to do so. Here is the body of my letter to the council, which I use, thinly disguised as ‘James Trumpton, grumpy resident’ in my lessons on balanced reporting.

We do not live in the centre of a town. This is the edge of the Greater London area and we need to keep the countryside just as it is – as countryside. The Common is an important area for wildlife and its natural beauty should be conserved. It is enough that a golf course has been placed at the centre of the Common: we should not allow further development.

Children have played in woodland for far longer than there have been playgrounds. Trees offer wonderful play equipment, in their branches, around their roots or behind their trunks. You can see the dens that children have built in the woodland on the Common. Let children use their imaginations and make their own play environment instead of constantly babying them with modern equipment. Many primary schools now have ‘forest schools’ – wooded areas in which children can encounter nature, take risks and – heaven forbid – get dirty. If schools recognise the value of woodland for our children, why shouldn’t we?

In short, Chorleywood Common isn’t a town park. We don’t need more swings, slides or climbing frames, and there are enough cafes in the village without the need for more buildings. Just let children play as they have done for hundreds of years.

Back to the draughty hall. Tim began by asking us to close our eyes and picture where we were happiest playing when we were children. For me, it was the derelict land around the Dallow Road industrial estate in Luton, and the veldt beyond the garden fence in Southern Africa. There I learnt to deal with severe nettle stings, not to touch strange canisters, never to walk in still water where bilharzia lurked, and how to use my imagination, both on my own and with my friends.

Judging by the precautions we take with our children today, it’s amazing I’m still alive. I would only add that we are both the greatest constraint on our children, and the greatest threat. We drive our children everywhere because – and Tim Gill stressed this – drivers kill more children in this country than any other perceived threat.

I am prone to moments of hubris. Take the educational conference at my spiritual home, King Alfred School, where, during a coffee break, I bearded the parent who’d organised the event.

“I’m a Year Six teacher. Can you give me a bit of advice? Oh, and by the way, here’s a book you might enjoy.” I suggested that she should read Maverick, by Ricardo Semler. It’s the only management book I read in the twenty years of my career as a management consultant (my view was that all other books were little more than snake oil).

That day, she spoke to my condition; only later, as I lay in bed listening to Desert Island Discs did I realise quite how insightful Professor Tanya Byron is. And how famous. And clever. I felt a cold sweat creep across me as I recalled my impertinence.

I won’t even attempt to paraphrase her: find out what she has to say about your children. Oh, and about education policy in Britain.

ps I found this on YouTube – a link to a TEDx talk she gave in Cheltenham. Good advice, but I am sad to say that she tells the same jokes wherever she goes…

I’ve just been listening to Radio 4’s Saturday Live, which is a must for any parent. Children’s authors and issues slip quietly and easily into my ears and attention each week.

Today we were hearing about books and boys (amongst many other things). The self-fulfilling prophecy that boys like fact-y books more than fiction. You can hear more about this on Woman’s Hour here and here for as long as the links last.

Firstly, tell that to my avid male readers of fabulous fiction. A broad statistic need not be a truth universally acknowledged.

But more than that, fiction is important for all children. Fiction fires our imagination: it frees us from the here and now and gives us friends, worlds, lives that we couldn’t otherwise hope to experience. Whether it’s curling up with characters at bedtime or snatching five minutes with a book before a lesson begins, fiction should be a way of life.

Because without imagination, we cannot fully experience empathy. If we cannot put ourselves into the shoes, the heads, the lives of others, we may miss the best of being human. There are too many adults – often highly successful in their chosen careers – who nevertheless cannot empathise with their clients, employees, patients, public – or pupils. And it shows.

If you still need convincing of the value of fiction, read Barrs and Cork, ‘The Reader in the Writer’. They argue that children must read well if they are to write well. Or, to paraphrase TS Eliot, writers first imitate, then steal; deface what they take, then make it into something better. As teachers, first we see Alex Ryder plagiarised; ultimately we find Horowitz taken in exciting, new directions. That’s what makes a Level 6.