Hello Mr. Wooden spoon, you’re red and sparkly like a glam-rock inspired jacket sold in a vintage second-hand shop covering up the forgotten items like a soppy hat or a farmer’s cap. I speak to the rather special wooden spoon with the belief that it cannot answer me or understand what I am saying, maybe that should be round the other way. But I find that if I can vent my feelings and thoughts out somehow then everything will be okay, OK like the celebrity gossip magazine where half the celebrities are a bit naff. “Aooooo I hate OK,” The spoon said all of a sudden, “I much prefer Heat Magazine.” I was taken aback naturally, “a talking spoon? You’re having a giraffe!” I exclaimed out loud. The spoon frowned and looked slightly offended lifting his rather bushy caterpillar eyebrows slowly at me as if examining me. “What do you seek?” the spoon asked me curiously. I stood there hand on hip, moving thumb side to side like in trance and found myself singing Eleanor Gay out loud. “You are in search of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the dark?” The spoon asked. “No, no,” I replied and then put my big oval face up in the spoons face to see if it were a trick or not. Eventually I decided it wasn’t a trick and that his red, plump face all like a baboon’s bottom was for real and realised perhaps he could help me in my quest to find the perfect jacket to wear to the first annual local alternative spoon-collectors convention. I wanted something that would make me stand out from the crowd (and yes admittedly at a spoon-collecting convention that isn’t hard, anything that isn’t tweed or brown makes you stand out, even the gothic black). I also wanted a jacket that would help me attract a young man type, I explained what I wanted and the spoon seemed to have a glimmer in its little beady black eye(s). “I am wearing the jacket you need,” Mr. Spoon said. I laughed like a kookaburra drunk on Hooch alcopops; the jacket was far too small for me! “I know what you’re thinking, this red jacket is far too small for you but there are two solutions, you could either shrink yourself which I must confess isn’t the best idea or you can make the jacket grow.” He explained. “How can I make it grow?” I asked (I didn’t even consider that the spoon may be lying or that it was weird to find a spoon that could talk). “If you do a favour for me I shall do a shamanic ritual that will make it grow to fit you like a glove,” Mr. Spoon explained. “What must I do?” I asked; I really did like the jacket by this point. “There is a spatula in the shop next door that I have a bit of a crush on you see, buy the spatula and bring it to me.” Mr. Spoon asked. “Isn’t that interbreeding?” I asked curiously. The spoons little face grew with anger and so I ran out of the shop and brought back the spatula, I gave the spoon the spatula and true to his word he made the glittery, red jacket my size and it fit perfectly.