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In Hot Water.

I’d make a cup of tea, but somebody’s hidden the kettle.

Our office shares a kitchen space with a few other businesses. That definition doesn’t do the room justice: while it may be a kitchen, space doesn’t really come into it. I’ve seen battery hens living in less cramped conditions. Not in person, as I don’t spend much time hanging around unethical farming facilities. Not since the injunction.

In the kitchen there’s a kettle. Or there was. I popped my head in the room yesterday - the only part of me I can fit in with ease - to find the base and nothing else. The water-bearing bit was nowhere to be seen.

I hoped this would be one-off, but it’s still missing. Perhaps someone took it into their office to fill up their cups and then forgot to return it. Whatever the reason, if it’s not back tomorrow, I’m making tea with the hot tap.

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