In the end it was all pie. He was a baker, sure, and making pies had been his father’s and grandfather’s livelihood long before him and more or less all he knew of the world was wrapped up in shortcrust. But he began to see it all as pie - the walls of the house as crust, the filling was his life. All that he was or would be stewing under pressure and heat. Melding flavours of his own with that of others. Becoming delicious. His home and his family were his pie, but they weren’t all he’d hoped they’d be. So he baked them.
Paddy Dobson
14th March 2024