My mother-in-law was ruled by superstition. If she dropped a piece of cutlery on the floor, it would lie there until somebody else came into the house and picked it up for her – sometimes for days.
If two knives crossed on a plate, she’d spend the rest of the day waiting for a fight to start – and heaven help anyone who spilled the salt, or opened an umbrella indoors. Just as well I never told her Rob had seen The Dress before we got married, or I might never have heard the end of it. Continue reading
We’ve got history, my right foot and I. What you might call previous. GBH, ABH, assault with intent. It’s not pretty. Mostly it’s black, purple and a sort of greenish colour.
A few months ago, I was trying on some new clothes in the bedroom, and there was a discarded pair of jeans on the floor that I kept tripping over. My own stupid fault; my balance isn’t great so I should really have picked them up, but I didn’t. After one trip too many, I lost my temper and lashed out with my right foot, intending to kick them across the floor. Continue reading