McCalliog and his hens
McCalliog and his hens
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McCalliog and his hens (1)
“I went into Meirson’s Antiques today,” my wife said one night, as we sat in bed, reading. “Oh yes,” I said distractedly. “He’s got a painting, one...
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- 72 reads
McCalliog and his hens (2)
The next day my wife went into town to meet a friend for coffee while I pottered in the garden. She rang me mid-tulip sounding breathless with...
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- 69 reads
McCalliog and his hens (3)
I went into town. I wasn’t going to ring Tilly before I had all of the facts. Meirson’s didn’t look the site of a kerfuffle, it looked the same as it...
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- 88 reads
McCalliog and his hens (4)
I phoned Tilly straight away, as soon as I left Meirson’s. “The McCalliog?” she said. “What’s a McCalliog?” “The painting. The painting of ducks that...
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- 135 reads
McCalliog and his hens (5)
“Milton Keynes?” “Yes, Milton Keynes.” “The McCalliog painting is in Milton Keynes?” “All of your mother’s furniture and fixings are stored in a...
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- 131 reads
McCalliog and his hens (6)
We took all ten paintings outside and unwrapped them carefully. The first painting was of a pair of squat, black waterfowl. “Moorhens,” I said. “With...
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- 192 reads