Showing posts from February, 2017
For the Love of Dog© Maggy Whitehouse 2016.
Chapter One. I am 39 years old and I am out of nice. I have done nice all of my life. I have been an angel. I have looked on the bright side. I have compromised and helped. I have done pathetic. I have done the tears. But I ran out of nice about six weeks ago. It’s gone, vanished, simply disappeared. I don’t know where it went and, of course, as I don’t have it any more, I don’t give a toss about losing it. It’s quite comforting really. Not in a nice way, obviously. It’s simply different. There is not a cell in my body which has not felt the pendulum swing. That is why I am currently holding up a queue of perfectly pleasant people at Heathrow airport and refusing to get on an aeroplane. Yes, they are going to miss their take-off slot; yes, they are all going to be inconvenienced and yes, quite a few people are getting seriously irritated. But they cannot go without me without even a further delay because my luggage is on board. What is not on boar…