A sycamore tree — Copyright Graham Hogg

If I were a tree I definitely wouldn’t be a Silver Birch — tall and glamorous, aloof, turning the admiring heads of passers-by, confident in my silver-barked radiance. Nor would I be an exciting Horse Chestnut, enticing little boys to scour the ground for nut brown treasures. Large Oaks would…

--

--

Bibbity bip, said the fridge, with the door left open

Bippity bip. “Don’t forget me”, sang the fridge, too chirpily given the circumstances. Despite its calls for attention, the milk soured, the cheese grew hard and cracked, the tomatoes split, and the lettuce wilted, then liquified, oozing green slime.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, insisted the washing machine: “I’m done here”. The clothes…

--

--