27 October, 2020

And Thereby Hangs A Tailh

And Thereby Hangs A Tailh
TREE years ago I abandoned the nine-to-six routine for the hazards of freelance journalism and the rather more daunting prospect of authorship. Little did I realise that such irresponsible behaviour offered unexpected bonuses: the luxury of remaining unshaven for days on end and the arrival without warning of similarly disenfranchised friends who provided the perfect excuse for procrastination.

I work at a vintage Underwood portable under the painting of a white dog. Strikingly rendered, it never fails to evoke comment and admiration. A whippet, I say, lying without qualm, ignoring a tail which curls with freewheeling Goan mongrel brio. It has been many moons since Snowy left us for the happy hunting grounds of her ancestors. But not without her moment of glory. A friend had dropped by one day while we were away at work, painted Snowy in oils, cooked us a superlative chicken liver pate and left without so much as a note, though the painting did carry a discreet signature.

With Snowy looking down her elegant nose at me, there I was midweek, hirsute and...



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