Home stories

Quite some years back I had round my Sunday lunch table, a young lady just out from South Africa an older man with a very pronounced local accent with other guests....

The night was clear, a light breeze was blowing outside, people were arriving home after work. Everyone went about their evening with no hint of the mystery that was about to unfold in my house....

I was living on the worst street in town. I didn't like it. Horrible things would happen in my block of flats....

I had just moved into my new place with a friend and the building changed the keys to our fire door lock....

I’m home, I just got home. Home is where the heart is. The heart of the home is the hearth. The Vulcan heater looks at me, dormant and cold....

A memory that has stayed with me over the years is the special present my father gave my mother in 1975: the book ‘Superwoman’ by Shirley Conran....