Lancaster. Middle of February. Miserable winter weather. Hattie Brown at home on a Wednesday evening, slumped on a cream, sagging sofa with felt tip marks scribbled on the arm rest and what she hoped was chocolate smeared into the upholstery. She stared past her ghastly neon pink ‘Mum in a Million’ slippers towards the end of the room, towards a full-on view of the small oak sideboard covered in inch thick dust, imprinted with tiny hand prints, and placed on it, a large flat screen television, smeared in something Hattie didn’t care to think about. To one side, under the huge bay window, an oak coffee table, hidden under a mound of Play Mobil characters, CBeebies magazines, several half-finished sippy cups of milk steadily turning into cottage cheese and a styling head doll covered in slimy play make up. Below it, the floor. Now, where was it? She hadn’t seen it for weeks. It was littered with tiny sequined shoes, a pink leotard, purple fairy wings, a wand looking worse for ware and piles and piles and piles of unopened mail, magazines, notebooks and to do lists. Yes, many to do lists. The fireplace, once a source of immense pride and beauty with its dazzling granite hearth, and polished oak surround, now yet another dust collector. The hearth, no longer gleaming but dirtied by heavy rain and hailstones tumbling through the filthy chimney like tiny pebbles dancing through a rain stick. And Hattie, hand deep down in the recesses of the sofa. The remote control, buried amongst crumbs, loose change, glittery hair clips and… something else… maybe a banana skin? Hattie wasn’t sure. With a huge sigh, she pulled the remote control out of it’s burial ground, pointed it in the optimum direction and switched the television on.