Batakliev's Bloc

Today is a big day. I'm due for my free coffee at the Coffee Shop I have pledged loyalty to. Strung together in claustrophobic array, the nine round stamps on my lovingly frayed cardboard card are my badges of pride. I paid for this reward diligently. There were times when I could have done without a coffee but I still ordered one knowing that today would come. Of course, this reward isn't a surprise. It's a reward I sponsored to remind myself of what it feels like to be rewarded. I can only dream of the joy I would reap from the completion of my pension plan, the repayment of my mortgage... "Here's your free coffee, Sir. No sugar." The girl behind the counter flashes a smile of unsweetened excitement. "And here's your brand new loyalty card." Now this is a surprise. Not only was a given a "free" coffee, I was also presented with an opportunity to finance a future reward. The nine round slots on my brand new loyalty card are star

I woke up in the middle of the night with a lump in my throat: a residue of wine, chocolate, turkey, baklava and Christmas trimmings of all sorts. I switched on my phone to find out what the time was and a BBC News notification flashed by: "George Michael dies at 53". I tapped the semi-awake app icon. The somber factual headline had made it to the top of the list. I turned to Facebook in disbelief. A waterfall of crying smileys had consumed my feed. Still sleepy and disbelieving, I knocked o n Google's door for the facts. And yes, he was gone. His "end date" on Wikipedia was added. Yesterday was his last Christmas. I felt sad, disturbed and robbed. George Michael was one of the people I grew up with. He was on the radio when my grandmother woke me up to go to school. He was on the radio when I was on the bus to University. He was on the radio at the canteen at work. I was never a fan but I always felt that he was my...mate. I have never not known his voice,