Sk9, milk two sugars.

My mum Jean makes a shit cup of tea, She sits it down on a coaster for me. I take a peak, one eye open, over the rim. Think me brews been drunk by the builder, our Tim. 

I’m printing out flyers for me teas disappearance, there’s no milk in sight, an intruder reet near us.

Popping up, bobbing, floating around. A little tea bag is sleeping quite sound. ‘Away with you tea bag you’ve no business here’ ‘There’s a meetin with binbag in a room at the rear’.  

A disastrous morning it’s been in my house, no biscuits for dipping. The suspect …

a mouse.

‘Leave it to me Jean’ when making the drinks. Perhaps ’twas her plan all along, I now think.


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