Here we go again
At 7.55pm on Monday night, I sit down in front of the TV waiting for the prime minister’s latest briefing. I stare at the screen — that all too familiar feeling of dread stirring in…
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Bakewell tart, anyone?
‘Bakewell tarts,’ Dad says when I answer the phone. ‘What about them?’ ‘I’ve made some.’ ‘For us?’ ‘Yes. Can you pick them up? Before I eat them all.’ I promise I’ll be straight round and…
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The show must go on
It’s Monday evening, almost seven o’clock, when I go upstairs to play my saxophone. On the TV downstairs, the prime minister is briefing the nation about rising coronavirus cases, local lockdowns, and the three-tier system.…
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The rule of six
‘Do not get me anything with seventy written on it,’ Mum says. ‘I don’t want to be reminded.’ ‘It’s your birthday,’ I say. ‘I don’t want a fuss.’ ‘You do.’ ‘I don’t.’ I sigh. Whenever…
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All insects great and small
‘How’s the new house?’ my auntie asks when I meet her at the garden centre for a brew. ‘It’s still standing,’ I say, thinking about the long snagging list that is getting longer by the…
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