The Ballad of Abby Hobbs
By J.L. <with unsolicited notes from A.H.>
Abby Hobbs was a solitary child in a bright yellow Legoland jumper. She lived in a house by a windy cemetery. Her only company? Three cats and a Vengaboys cassette.
20 years later, the Vengaboys have been replaced by too-sad-to-shave indie pop. There’s a new cat to cuddle (Fry, since you ask). And she lives in the gleaming metropolis. In the arse end of said gleaming metropolis. But still.
After showing early promise with visual media when she bagged the coveted second place in Windsor Arts Festival’s fine art competition behind a cross-eyed girl’s cross-eyed self- portrait, Abby now fills her days designing web pages and marrying form and function. <And her nights testing her unwieldily collection of pens on the inane and insane scribbles from her unrestful brain.>
What happened to the Legoland jumper, though? It wasn’t ‘replaced’, as such. It’s spirit lives on in Abby’s slouchy, boyish mode of dress. Which to this day means older relatives ask her ‘why don’t you dress your age?’ at every single family event. <She doesn’t mind though, she still plans on wearing her DMs until the end of time.>