Monthly Archives: July 2017

In The Myth of the Loving Killer I wrote about Clodagh Hawe and her three boys who were killed in their own home by someone who was then farewelled and buried together with them.  As it turns out I wasn’t … Continue reading →

That’s not true at all, to be honest.  It was 10:30 and we don’t have a dog, although Cassia asks for one every single day.  It’s a line from an Emily Dickinson poem that I’ve always liked because it pretty … Continue reading →