Tag Archives: Fergus

#82 – A chilly reception

Well, here we are. After all the trials, tribulations, tears, and tantrums, Oliver and I — and Jack, George, and Beth, of course — are finally in Our House. Our house.  How wonderful to be able to say that again. … Continue reading

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#81 – Send the past packing

The best thing about moving to a house only a mile and a half away is that you can do your own packing and take the boxes there yourself. And the worst thing about moving to a house only a … Continue reading

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#74 – Quarterly accounts

One quarter of the way through the year. Time to check in with those New Year’s Resolutions. In the wee hours of January 1st while being kept awake by the neighbours’ illuminated, inflatable Christmas decorations, I promised myself I would … Continue reading

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#72 – Puppy Love

I really don’t want to make this phone call. But I dial the number anyway. The phone picks up at the other end, a child answers, and I’m about to launch into a high-pitched, nervous Hello-is-your-mommy-there routine when I realise it’s not a … Continue reading

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#70 – A brewing storm

  Jack lies on the kitchen floor in his red pyjamas, legs and arms flailing, his face a puce, wet, dripping mess. He looks like an overripe tomato. “I want Fergus!” he wails, then hitches in a breath for more … Continue reading

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#69 – This dog’s life takes the biscuit

Fergus looks up at me, then down at his empty dish in the corner of the laundry room, then back at me. I could be imagining it, but I think his lip is curling. “No,” I say to him, as … Continue reading

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#54 – Opening the cocoon

There’s probably a word for it in the Complete Oxford English Dictionary. An obscure word that only makes an appearance on Radio 4 game shows. Something like: Tri-gami-matri-tace-filial (noun, Old English) — the silence of a son regarding his mother’s … Continue reading

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#32 -Santa Baby…hurry down that chimney, and don’t spare the reindeer

I have just written out my Christmas list. “Dear Father Christmas — Forget the weekend at Champneys. Forget the new iPhone. You can even forget Michael Buble’s Christmas album. Just get rid of her. Love, Libby. P.S.  If the dog … Continue reading

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#25 – Advice from the young at heart

It was much better in the days when only women got pregnant. Oliver is strutting around the place, looking all pleased with himself and cock-a-hoop — pardon the pun — and if I hadn’t told him not to announce the … Continue reading

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#23 – Love my neighbour

I’ve got a new friend. This morning, I was pulling up some weeds in the front garden, when this eccentric-looking lady came wandering across the road towards me. She wore a 1970s maxi dress and short hennaed hair with too … Continue reading

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