In Defence Of The Semolina
Unwritten Rules Of The School Dinner Hall
Brad Davenport
I write about the absurd parts of being alive, like how my houseplants have formed a government, or why my watch congratulates me for standing up. Just observations that hopefully make you smile.
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Donkey Stoning The Front Step Every Thursday
It Was All About Appearances
Grandma Ran That House Like A Woman With A Train To Catch
Bathtime Was On A Deadline
Make Sure You’re Back Home When The Street Lamps Come On
We Had The Whole Day To Ourselves
They Sent Me To Bed Just As The Party Started
Then Grandad Would Sit Down At The Piano
We Kept The “Best” Room For People Who Never Came
And We Didn't Qualify
The Planner Radiating Potential, From Inside A Drawer
I've Become A Man Who Plans
The Third Drawer Down, On The Left
The System of No System
A Wobbly Trolley Wheel In Human Form
A Diagnostic Report
I Own Seven Umbrellas. Or Is It Eight? I Never Know
I've Never Once Been Dry
The Computer Knew My Password The Whole Time
It Was Just Waiting For Me To Crack First
Seven Nearly Identical Photos Of A Jacket Potato
I Go With The "Less Terrible" Option
I Have Learned Not To Question The Pillows
There Are Fourteen Of Them
The Moment You Designate It As Good, It's Already Gone
A Brief Investigation Into Household Object Betrayal
The Remote Control Was A Privilege We Had To Earn
We Walked Uphill To Change The Channel
We Were Told Walking Was Good For Him
That Was 37 Years Ago
The Food Delivery Anxiety Transfer
How Technology Replaced One Problem With Something Even Worse
The Send Button Is A Trapdoor For My Dignity
And It Only Reveals Truths You Don't Want to See
A Story About Hope And Moisturiser
Three Weeks In. I've Come This Far
The 12-Second Commute That Isn't 12 Seconds
It's A Time Dilation Field
I Was The Last Place I Looked
My Brain Filed Me Under Irrelevant