One wellie boot stands in the garage amidst about 20 others. I wish I could say that they are nicely arranged in pairs along the wall. Instead, three pairs are visible, my husband Tim’s and my sons’; Colm’s and Diarmuid’s. These are the daily working team. The rest are tossed in a pile. Bran and Speedy, our faithful dogs, are mostly responsible for the heap due to their tumbling around in playful glee and knocking them over. My other boot has been missing for a while. Bran likes to run off with a wellie. Sometimes he carries it all the way to the farmyard, some 300m away. The boot is usually recovered by one of us within a few hours but this one has remained missing for a while. It’s probably in the garden somewhere. I haven’t been in the farmyard or garden much since my surgery in June so the wellie recovery hasn’t been urgent.

Subconscious yearnings