Archie Chihuahua has enjoyed a big life, despite his somewhat diminutive size. For Archie somehow always knew that his life would be full of surprises, so many surprises and twists and turns that it would probably be enough to make his mother’s hair curl. Oddly enough Archie’s mother already had masses of curls as anyone who knows anything about Puli’s can attest. Archie’s mother was Hungarian and, as oddity may have it, she raised and tended Mangalica pigs, those wonderful hirsute creatures who prefer the company of people and their indoor comforts than their own pens and porcine kinfolk. Some would say that because of such a confusing upbringing that Archie didn’t stand a chance, yet surprisingly he did, for...
Alice Springs seldom sleeps past six am thanks to her incessant reflux and uncle Stavros’ bantam roosters crowing in the day. But really that is the least of her worries for worrying is her greatest worry, worrying about being on time, measuring up, of fitting in, finishing tasks, starting new ones, and most of all the fear of failure. Alice could well have given up, fallen in a heap and hidden away forever, except that her early rising had given way to a peculiar diligence, a diligence not found very often, for she had taken up knitting in the wee hours of each day. And over the years of extraordinary application she has gone on to become a shining light...
The first thing you notice about Walter is that he is unnoticeable. Quiet by nature yet always thoughtful and always ready with a gentle fatherly piece of advice. Many locals know Walter not for his sharpened quips or razor like wit, but for his openness and care and interest in other's lives, and admire him for his ability to make them feel at ease, feel better about themselves and their lot. Walter embraces his job as the village pharmacist with great optimism dispensing medication and mediation with equal alacrity and always has time for a chat, not the fireside kind, just words of advice on self-care and self-respect. Just good old personal service. No Rotary, Lions or APEX for Walter...
Lester Lister was no fan of the alliteration despite the glaring opportunity of his nomenclature. As a young boy he regularly begged his parents to change his name to escape the barrage of mean spirited monikers dished out to him at school, at scouts and in the junior choir. Lester became a harried boy, a worry wart who ate too much, chewed his nails to the quick and planned and plotted revenge. So much so that he fell under the spell of his family tag becoming obsessed with jotting things down, making extensive enumerations and inventories, of cataloguing, itemising and tabulating the simplest of occurrences in his search for a sign, any sign that all this would someday make...
