Twice, a week or so before starting a house-sitting stint, I went to spy out the multiple dogs that would be in my care. Between that reccy and the owners going away, one of the dogs in each of the households died. I imagined the pitiful horror of (me) having been the one to find the canine corpse. Running to fetch someone – who, exactly? The canine police and/or canine coroner? Agonising between contacting the owners and ruining their holiday, or waiting for them to come back and the news immediately jettisoning the effect of any rest and enjoyment. Lurching about in distress like Lady Macbeth sleep walking. Or Maria Callas in Tosca, having killed Scarpia, searching for Cavaradossi’s free pardon. Or – perhaps most dramatically - Hilda Ogden leaving the Street to a chorus in the Rover’s of “Wish me Luck as you Wave me Goodbye”. Phew, frankly, that Mim and Tonto died pre-me. The shock would almost certainly have brought on an asthma attack, bells palsy, a ph...
Iestyn Edwards is...what?
I do cabaret, sing opera, write and dog sit. Sometimes all at once.