Rebecca Ritson



This wistful Duffy poem addresses our addictive obsessive relationship with being ‘mobile’…and what happens when our mobility is shot down or ignored. Many of my words have been fewer than 170 characters in the last few weeks so it seemed apt:


I tend the mobile now

like an injured bird.

We text, text, text

our significant words.

I re-readyour first,

your second, your third,

look for your small xx,

feeling absurd.

The codes we send

arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,

their image is blurred.

Nothing my thumbs press

will ever be heard.

Carol Ann Duffy


Unable to quit last week’s scone fetish, I relapsed by baking wholemeal flour scones last night. Convinced they are healthier, I ate three. Gym session today has left room for more…so before they are (s)gone here’s a picture:

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