Meet Mr Wolf

This is a blog about my mother. Mum has always told me that one day I'll grow up to write an award winning play. Thanks to modern technology I can write a mediocre blog instead. But before you turn away, this isn't some sort of Hallmark tribute.

Let's start with my earliest memory of mum. Most childhood memories involve teddy bears and cuddles.

Mine involves a wolf.

One night while I was sitting around playing with my Lego and feeling smug that I had once again evaded the terror of the nightly bath, mum suddenly burst into the room. "Quickly! There is a wolf outside!" she screamed in a state of wild panic. Naturally I followed suit.

The two of us ran around the house screaming and shouting. I was certain I'd be gobbled up - mum's cries of "He'll gobble you all up" were only adding to the drama. Thankfully mum had an idea. "Run into the bath! The wolf won't find you in there!". It was brilliant. Why would a wolf want to go near the bathtub? Baths were terrible and a wolf certainly had better things to do with his time.*

These wolf attacks happened on an almost nightly basis. If the wolves weren't on the prowl it would be foxes or occasionally wild geese. It wasn't until I was much older that I realised none of these creatures had any place in the suburban street where we lived.

Still, to this day I can't wash myself without first checking outside for rogue animals.

* Pun intended.