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These islands

One of my boys accidentally shoots the neighbour's son with an air gun. The incident reveals me to be a "pussy-whipped" husband

By Aarathi Prasad   September 2004

I am normally at home on Mondays, but this particular week I was in Belfast. My two sons returned from school to an empty house.

Five o’clock found me nosing through our gateway. At the end of the drive leading to the old school that is our home, I saw a plastic drum with coats draped over it. I could hear them laughing in the house.

I went into the old shed where I have my office and turned on my computer. Now I could hear laughing, mingled, if I wasn’t mistaken, with squealing.

I went to see. My…

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