checkpoint maggie

Mags Masefield proffers me some socks disguised as a Christmas present.
We are in the hall at the Chateau de Healy.
I proffer her a box of chocolates.
It is like an exchange at Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin during the Cold War.
Nervous soldiary keep an eye on things from both sides. That is to say the Mammy and the Dad are lurking in the kitchen with Mags' daughter Petunia, anxious to monitor events.
One wrong move or word could set off a conflagration that will engulf us all.
I take my socks.
Mags ditto the chocs.
We back away from each other.
I am smiling with genuine pleasure because I know I am ahead.
In the past six months Paddy Pup has destroyed virtually the entire indigenous sock collection at the Chateau.
For the first time in my life socks are actually a good present.