The advertising reaction

“But you never were that creative!” Shrieks my mother, the straightforward and stable corporate ladder disappearing from sight, rung by rung.

“Have you figured out what your pension arrangement will be?” Challenges my father, brow arching over the turned-down corner of the Telegraph.

“You can’t quit. You’re the best damn headhunter this side of Sheffield. The company NEEDS you.” Cries my boss, throwing tear-stained fistfuls of cash after me as I sling my lanyard into the industrial shredder. *

*Ok this is how I imagine it going. I’m yet to hand in my notice.

“Oh, that sounds… fun?” Murmurs my sister, her eyes quickly darting back to the humorous yet casual hinge message she’s been concocting for the last seventeen minutes.

“Hmm.” Muses my brother, his lips twitching into a slight smile of both warmth and uncertainty. (Translation: “I support you in trying to do this, but I don’t have faith in your ability to go far in this field.”)

“They make some fair points you know.” Whispers the absolute shit of an internal monologue I’ve developed recently.

“Woof.” Woofs Molly, Tilly and Toby, tails wagging as they look up in hope of a belly rub.

The dogs are the only ones who really get me.

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