The reluctant VEGETARIAN

Brian burst through the front door, stamping his feet on the mat and struggling to unwind the football scarf from around his neck.

‘I’m home!’ he called. Any tea going?’

As his circulation began to return, making his feet and fingers tingle, he shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the newel post where his scarf was already making the hall look untidy.

‘Kath?’ he called again. ‘Where are you, love?’ And he went off to search the house for his vanished wife, thinking, ‘It’s a poor do when a fella can’t get a cup of tea after a hard afternoon at the footy.’

Halfway up the stairs, he heard the sound of strange music floating down from the spare room. ‘Now what’s she up to?’ he muttered under his breath.

The sound of a blackbird in full song joined with the lilting tones of pan pipes and, as if