For all the splendid times had by all and all the new adventures and happy holiday memories, returning back home after travelling far, far away is a journey of dark foreboding. The ride from the airport is by far the worst. Did I lock the back door? Was the grill turned off after that last hurried breakfast? Who checked the upstairs 13A sockets? What monstrously large and unexpected bill lays waiting in the mountain of junk mail? Before considering what horrors await in emails or on answer phone, the irrational fear of burglary has to be conquered and the nagging lack of confidence in well-meaning yet eccentric neighbourly cat feeders had to be overcome. (more…)
The Plastic Hippo 