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Baking & Stories

A small collection.

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<hi>

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<hi Ben, how are you?>

<good thanks n u>

<good good having a beer – long day!>

<where>

<just in the living room>

<oh at home lol>

<yup!>

<where do u live>

<Wiley Park>

<ur close I live at punchbowl>

<working tomorrow?>

<nah I’m on holiday>

<im home at 3 come over>

<pics?>

<like nudes lol?>

<I won’t say no! but whatever really>

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it was the happiest night of my life

Its “It’s” you TWITS

My young mind’s confusion between when to use “it’s” and “its” was forever resolved, once upon a time, in a Year 5 Computer Studies class. We were made to do grammar exercises in a program consisting of dragging and dropping the appropriate words into empty spaces in sentences, having to choose between oft-confused words, e.g. there/they’re and their ilk. My very arrogant 11-year old self breezed through this program faster than everyone else as usual, enjoying all the flashes of 100% and “Great!”/”Well Done!” privately gloating to myself while present​ing airs of humility and studiousness (I mean, I’d been reading gigantic tomes of multi-volume fantasy series for years by now, this was utter child’s play!) right until I was roundly slapped in the face by a big red 0% and all my choices tumbled back down to the selection box, accompanied by an incredibly condescending: “uh-oh”!

I tried again.

“Uh-oh!”

I think I tried at least 3 times before daring to doubt myself, flipping my binary choice, and then felt shame and incredulity wash over me in alternating wash cycles.

I still claim sometimes, until today, especially when I’m drunk and/or feeling particular argumentative, that the apostrophe of “it’s” should be interpreted as possessive rather than contractive. “I bet you it was “ites” once upon a time!”

As I’m still harping on about it until today, clearly I know I’m wrong.

Ewok

Laboured breathing, pain.
A life of energy, vigour, comes to a close.
And, too, her soft and gentle love.
A family gathers to say goodbye;
hesitation, guilt struggles with sadness, fear.
A blur of tears, screams and pierced hearts.
“So, cash or card?” – the body still warm.

Nutella

I couldn’t find her this morning.

Walking to the train, I saw: a dark patch of gingery fluff bursting out of the blood-stained road.

Not moving.

She was always moving.

I covered her with a soft white cloth and carried her home.

Later, when no-one was watching, I cried.