Tradition comes from something being so brilliant and such a good memory, that you try to recreate it every time that you can.

To: Gabe Foster From: Dylan Mitchell I have prepared the fourth pot of coffee for you to taste. I pray that this one meets your exacting taste buds, because I do actually have plans for the rest of my life.

Gabe might be a complete bastard, but I sort of think of him as my bastard, and I don’t like other people criticising him.

I suppose what he does best is to encourage me to be the best, because he loves me. Maybe at its finest, that’s what love should be.

I feel something snap and settle in me. It’s the last piece of my heart, falling for him without any input from me at all.

I smile limpidly at him. “I am a bit of a flibbertigibbet. My teachers always used to say so.” “Did you go to school in the 1850’s then?

My Jude. My best friend, my lover and my heart.

I don’t think that I feel anything deeply.

There are far too many Suzy Sunshines on this estate. I like a bit of vinegar with my chips.

Sometimes we think that a certain path in life is the way we have to go. We see other routes, but we avoid them because we’re so insistent they’re not for us, that we might get lost or hurt. Then sometimes fate sets in, and someone takes your hand or waves you over. You step off your chosen path, and find that although this one is new and scary, somehow your feet know the way to navigate it. You might even find that it leads you the way that you were always meant to go.