You just knew she’d end up as mayor. Anyone who clears up the dog shit of others for a decade deserves to be repaid in kind. This was that day. Once in office, she began to haul the town off its scabby knees. She led gangs into tourism, running OD-themed hotels and peddling post-modern sink-estate souvenirs. She persuaded former prostitutes to dig up a derelict road and plant a community veg plot in its place, winning a Chelsea rosette en route. Teenagers who’d missed years of school suddenly started to read in their teens, sparking an ill-lit genre that mugged the publishing industry in broad daylight. Yet as the town improved, she felt an unease. Gentrification made her sick. With drugs, homelessness and poverty off the agenda, she left her post. Transport and refuse felt fickle. One week into her 49th year, she left town and was never seen again. To this day, she’s still missing. They named a square after her. As far as they know, she’s never been back. They live in hope.


Lennart and Adam, thank you for hosting.

Tim, thank you for performing.

Sonja, thank you for directing and recording your performing.

Will, thank you for commenting.

Jonny, Kyoko, Paul & Davy, thank you for coming.

Hedda, thank you for babbling.

Jamie, thank you for mixing.

Neighbours, thank you for complaining and muting Hedda.

And Kim, thank you most of all for curating – my love goes out to you.