Cutlery Drawer - running time 3 minutes
My sister is asleep, I sit waiting in my bed for them to return home. I received the call at 11:30pm and it is now 1am. On the phone mum was distressed and lost, she had been walking down a country road and didn't know where she was. He had kicked her out of the car again and she had used her last 50 pence piece in a phone box to call me. The money had run out before she could tell me where she was, she was crying and it was difficult too calm her down. I don't know where she is or how to find her. I sit waiting in my bed for them to return home. My sister is asleep in her room for now. She is 11. I listen for cars in the distance. Maybe he's crashed the car again? Maybe he's gone back to the pub? Maybe they are fighting in the forest? He may have picked her up and crashed the car and killed them both? He may have killed her? I hope she's managed to get away? I sit waiting in my bed for them to return home. I listen closely as a car drives up to the house. I look out of the window and the car drives past, its not him, its not them. I sit waiting in my bed with my pillows propped up so I don't fall asleep. My attempts to keep my eyes open are failing. I need to stay awake to protect them, to protect my little sister and my Mum. I drift in and out of half sleep, I gain a false sense of security, comfort safety and warmth in between waking and dreaming. I daydream and see my mother smiling, she is happy strong confident resilient assertive stoic resolute ambitious creative and beautiful, like she used to be before. I see a car crash, I hear a loud bang and a shout. I sit up bolt up right in my bed and can hear them fall into the front door downstairs. I can hear his deep low belligerent defensive aggressive droning drunk voice through the wall like a hollow empty angry demon from the woods. I hear my mother shouting my name…

Wallpaper - running time 2 minutes 30 seconds
Stripping wallpaper is one of those things, you don't really know how its going to go, be nice to have some pointers though. Hardly much of a hand-me-down set of skills, I suppose its useful. I fumble around and wonder if anyone is watching me. That lad’s doing it right. Why is he doing it like that? Shouldn't be doing it like that. Trying to do a good job. Silly really. Maybe there isn't a right way to do this. Get that ladder. I think I spent most time trying to be close. Didn't matter if I was fixing the toilet or sticking Lino on the floor. Yeah, I'll help. Hopeful for approval. Maybe one day I'll have the same stories. I can share them with the lads. Talk about the time I stripped wallpaper with my dad. The time I painted the house. Little stories of my own. My dad can't see that well, needs me to look, needs me to check. Is that paint wet or dry? I worry that he really struggles on his own, with his eyes, his dodgy mince pies. I struggle on my own, come to think of it.

Shaving - running time 6 minutes
My beard is my man mask - I’ve not had a wet shave for about ten years, I was a late bloomer amongst my school and collage friends with their hairy wild animal faces. It was a measure of boy success to have sideburns as a teenager in the late 90s. Anyone who could grow hair on their faces had the girl, the girl I wanted. My big brother could grow a full beard like a thicket bush from the age of thirteen. I couldn't grow a thin Michael Finnegan one until I was mid 20s. Walking around town with him as teenagers, little me, two years his younger sibling, I looked like Jimmy Cranky or a little boy dressed like Compo from Last of the Summer Wine. Fast forward to now and I'm on my way to get fitted for my PPE at Malton hospital as now I work as a carer for my oldest friend during the Covid 19 pandemic. Amongst other medical conditions he suffers from aspirational pneumonia every month. I walk into the hospital with a full beard on, Ray ban style sunglasses, a smart blazer jacket, skin tight jeans and smart shoes, full of confidence in my appearance, many have said I look good with a beard. I met my fiancé two years ago and haven't had a wet shave since. My Jimmy cranky Little boy dressed as Compo impersonation a distant memory, I've even forgotten what my own face looks like under this hairy fuzz. It’s funny when someone asks you to shave your beard off to wear personal protective equipment during a global pandemic, your priorities change quickly. I sit down with an NHS volunteer, Mark, who takes me through the differences between breathing and coughing particles and aerosol particles, the type created whilst I set my friend up with his CPAP machine every night. As my conversation with Mark about facial hair ruminates around my own head it echoes around in the corridor waiting room, I imagine a queue of blokes awaiting their own mask fitting procedure, a pagonophile rogues gallery, beards, designer stubble, and a handlebar moustache the size of a mellon slice. One gentleman approaches and remarks “I can't shave my beard off my wife will kill me, she doesn't like my face”. After Mark finishes his respiratory conditions Health and safety demonstration and takes me through the risk factors of having facial hair and wearing PPE with his wonderful information graphic chart, it dawns on me that I only have one option, that my beard is coming off. A wave of fear wrestles with my own ego about my self-image, one I've come accustomed to and comfortable hiding behind for the last 10 years plus. Standing in front of my fiancé I imagine myself as a smouldering rough and ready Tom Hardy in a perfume advert or the vampire Kiefer Sutherland from Lost boys. In front of other men and strangers I imagine I look like Jason Mamoa or Clint Eastwood on the silver screen. Strong and mysterious and not to be messed with. I'm not ready to take this beard mask off. I'm less ready to lose my friend. Friends don't grow back from Covid 19 complications combined with pre existing health condition. My beard will. I ask Mark for a razor.