Gary Johnson, an eighteen-week-old writing pad that initially lived in a branch of Tesco, has revealed his sadness at only being used for shopping lists.
'I had plans, when I was a tree, that when I became paper, I would be used to write the next great novel, or love letters between a couple that couldn't be together, and my paper would bear the tears of their great sadness. But now, all people ever write on me is Toilet Paper, Milk, Apples, etc. It is not what I had hoped for.'
Michael, the wire at the top of Gary's head, said 'Not only do I have to listen to his bullshit complaints, but I had plans to be either an artisan coat hanger or paperclips.'