Where I now live in Prague gets very foggy in the winter months. This is because it sits on a plateau above Liben. Liben, as everyone knows, is very shady. Whatever the reasons, we spent the end of November, December and January is a cloud. Last Christmas, I wasn’t 100% convinced we’d been attacked by the Russians. I ate extra carbs in case I needed to store fat. I still store that fat – in the means of efficiency.

Nevertheless, this dense, high-climbing fog makes it like we’re in a Sherlock Holmes story in Victorian London. Sure, the kids on scooters and vaping residents kills that feel a bit. But we do have a group of homeless guys who hang out in the square that give a Holmesy vibe, especially the one who pushes himself around in his wheelchair with his remaining foot.

This foggy effect can be in turn disconcerting and cozy. Yesterday in the late afternoon, I was standing on my balcony looking out over the fog, I felt safe, warm, cozy. I was happy that I was up here and not down there; I was not in the spooky fog, where anything could get me – Jack the Ripper, vaping mugger, be-idioted scooter. From nowhere came a long, sad howl. A howl. Not a bark or a whine. A howl. And, as I said, long, drawn-out, sad, and not far enough to make me feel comfortable.

“Dog,” I said, comforting myself and my slippers. “Must be a dog.”

The long howl came again.

“A big dog, but a dog.”

One more big long howl.

“That’s a werewolf.”

I checked my watch: 3:51 pm. I then had to hedge my bets.