Viewers from America may wish to adjust brightness now.


There. I feel we have an intimate bond now. You’ve literally seen into my head.

How did it end up like this? Well…

…I had a Polish grandma. A Babcia (bab-cha, like the dance, cha-cha-cha). She was so in to her Catholicism that she had a hologram of the last supper on the wall. Depending on where you were in the room, Jesus was either with his disciples or absent. You took half a step left – gone. Step back – resurrected. Gone. Back. Gone. Back.

My Babcia was also obsessed with feeding me. Kielbasa, Kabanos, weird long, twisted biscuit things that were called something like Krusti, and other things not beginning with K. One day I told Babcia that I wanted to become a priest. I’m not sure if this was actually true or not, but she disappeared from the room. When she came back she released a Wispa (first time round) into my palm. Hallelujah. It went like that for a while. She started telling people about my calling. I decided to up the ante. ‘Babcia,’ I said. ‘I think I want to become the Pope.’


Fistfuls of Aeros, Twixs, Wispas landed at my feet. Good old Nestle. Ahem. I was about 9, 10. By the time I was 18, I’d had something like 74 dental fillings. There’s a moral there somewhere.

In other news, Hello! I’m Michael. I’m 27. I’m currently enrolled on the MA in Creative Writing at the University of Manchester. I am the writer of a Twitter story which the New York Post did not describe as ‘a tour de force!‘ I am also working on a novel entitled Dolly, an extract of which is due to appear among the wondrous works of fellow MA students in our upcoming anthology (links to come).

Come hither with wild abandon.


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