A pebble

life ruiner

Two Mondays ago my almost-two-year-old daughter bought home a pebble she found in the Walthamstow Wetlands. I put it in my coat pocket where it melded with some red Babybel wax.

Ever since then I have been experiencing profound negativity:

• lucrative work being pushed/cancelled

• clean t-shirts smelling bad

• haikus syllabically correct but not transcending

• a sad song made me sad (usually I’m okay)

There’s apparently a thing where, every year, tourists post stolen rocks back to Uluru with apology letters, some claiming that they had experienced bad luck.

I’ve never been to Uluru, but I happened to see it out the window of the plane when we flew back to Sydney from London last year. It genuinely took my breath away. That rock could definitely ruin your life.

I’m not suggesting that Walthamstow Wetlands has the same gravity as Uluru (plus there’s every chance this pebble was bought at a garden centre in a big bag) - but I’m not messing around with nature.

First thing tomorrow morning this fucking pebble is out of here.