Object: Whiteboard

You’re not screwed into a wall, as I move you from room to room, infrequently.

I write on you in various colours, mainly blue as blue is my favourite colour.

I often notice scratches left on the wall I once leaned you against, aghast on my face, as a tenant I’m disgraced – in my head that is. I wonder if my landlord will deduct £5 off my deposit for wear and tear?

Almost every time I start I write at the top of you in black ink ‘W/C 3RD MAY 2020 – TODO!’ was the last thing I titled you.


Rests below, dutifully so.

I list the number of things I must complete ASAP for my degree. Only, I never complete them on time. I like writing on you.

I enjoy spraying you and rubbing you out!

Lately, you have this unyielding power to inflict emotional pain through me, via the medium of reminding me that I’ve not completed anything on your list. Sometimes, I will move you away, so I don’t have to see you unless I happen to frequent the room you’re situated in.

I cheat. Because I will happily type up a new list and print it off, duplicate it in all three of my diaries…come back next week and do it again.

I apologise.

I promise to spray you down and clean you up, I promise I’ll do that today.

Object: The Notebook

I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you on a frosted glass shelf. A beautiful hue of blue sparking in my line of sight. I picked you up and opened you, read the blank lines down a few pages. I envision my words written in blue ink, short-stories, random quotes, poetry and whatever you think.

     The first page on the inside was a subtle marine blue, reminded me of our ocean and depths of each blue hue. I love the colour blue, so I pick you up and buy you. I take you home and sign Unique inside you.

     The date is today and today is special like yesterday, I’m alive! I’m thankful for our universe. I write a few sentences along your light blue lines.


Living is a risk we all take every day, my notebook is my notebook and as long as I live, I’ll write away.


Object: The Stove

When I first met you, you were always cold and unwelcoming. I clicked switches and turned hobs and you just wouldn’t turn on.

I eventually saw your bright red glowing rings. So beautiful!

I placed a saucepan on the stove and warmed up some oat-milk, mixed in some oats and sprinkled some sugar.

The Stove, electric. Unknown to me before that day.

The stove, new and a learning curve for me in the ways of the kitchen.

The stove, I burnt a lot of food at the start. The temperature too high always too high but felt too low, to begin with.

Now that we’ve had some time together, I understand what you want and you know what I need.

Our shared memories and the nights you’ve witnessed my greed.

The Stove, are we in this?

Yes! Of course, we are. I’ll cook with you and they clean with you, your elements are my fire.

The Red & Black Backpack

I have a backpack, and inside I packed: A black A4 2020 diary, a hippy print diary, pack of sanitary towels enclosed in a floral pouch, pack of spicy noodles, four highlighters, one blue pen, two red pens, one black pen that has run out of ink, a 50th birthday card, half-eaten cheese sandwich, hairbrush, a book by Chuck Palahniuk, a beige glasses case with green glasses enclosed, iPad, overused iPad charger, hand cream, a tub of basil and tomato pasta-bake, cherry flavoured Carmex, a tiny wooden duck named Jane, a bottle of water, a pack of Biscoff biscuits, a used PostIt note some random guys number barely legible and a jar of hope.