The Brazen-Foxes of St Margarets

By Milton Jones

Anthony Brazen-Fox Works in Recruitment, mostly within the poultry industry. His wife Daphne goes through people’s bins, and then sells the same stuff back again through a charity shop in Twickenham. They have three cubs, Hucknall, Halliwell and Kinnock. You may have heard them screeching in the night.


Snow! The First day it arrived the cubs wanted me to go and make a snow-fox with them in Moor Mead Park, but I don’t trust the stuff, it shows everything up for what it is – people playing, red fur, and incriminating paw prints. Besides i cant be playing, I’ve got business to do, for a start we got to get all of them into our first choice school – there aren’t enough places you see. Dephne says we might have to move nearer. At the moment we live in ‘a garden flat with easy access to the station’ as the estate agent described it. A hole under the platform is the reality, and you can’t swing a cat in there – and believe me I tried. Yes, I’m also a bit worried about Kinnock, our youngest – he refuses to chase pigeons. I think he might need a tutor – because you have to be a go-getter if you want to succeed around here.


Depressing month this, Here we sit in an eternal triangle between the railway, the flight-path and the A316. It’s usually around this time of year Daphne says she wants to go and live in the country. But I have a cousin in the country and as he says – at least in the town the only thing people every hunt for is a parking space. Cabin fever that’s all it is – she spent too much time indoors surrounded by stripped pine. She’ll forget it when the sun comes out and she’s yapping away with all the other vixen at the tables outside the coffee shops. By the way I’ve started tunnelling from out place towards the local school. Well, then we can say we live much nearer, and as everyone knows around here, extending is cheaper than moving. At least we’ve seen the back of that snow. But now of course, Daphne wants to go ski-ing.


This is the time of the year people start cleaning. I can’t tell you how many moles ive caught blinking in the sunshine down by the river bank. The daffodils are late this year. No-one wants to be the first to turn up at a party I guess, most prefer to wait till it warms up a bit. Meanwhile we’re all stuck indoors and the ginger triplets are driving us crazy – perhaps it’s too much orange squash? Mu only light relief has been wandering around the farmer’s market in Richmond, daring them to chase me. The free-range chicken man got particularly upset. But at last the first candy pink blossom is out, and the birds are singing cover versions of the tunes their parents sang before them. And so it all begins again. This is a pleasant place to live. Perhaps i should try and give something back; who knows i might even run for a seat on the council. Yes, because I see there are even more of those green parakeets about! Who do they think they are? They act as if they own the place!


At least, summer is on its way – I can’t wait until the days are long again, the shrubbery is dense and there are all those picnic leftovers from the washed out concerts in the Marble Hill Park. Oh and the good news is that Kinnock has got in to our first choice school. The bad news is that he got in through a hole in the roof, and that he made a right mess in the kitchens. That’s my boy! That tutor’s paying off already. But here’s to a lazy summer with hot pavements and blue skies. The other good news is that we’ve sorted out a summer holiday. Do you know the Portuguese Algarve? Well there’s this family in Cole Park Road who’re going there for August, and we’re going to have their house – just no-one mention it to them, alright?

Courtesy of My St.Margarets Magazine

Read the next instalment of life with the Brazen-Foxes in the next edition published late September.