Today, it was Christmas. My brother sat on the living room floor in the space between lunch and everyone nodding off on the sofa trying to solve this year’s brain teaser puzzle from my auntie – a selection of wooden shapes that need putting together in a particular order to make a perfect cube. His legs stayed crossed and rejected cheese and crackers until they felt like they deserved it. I watched from an armchair with a tub of ready salted Pringles. He’ll always only ever be five years older than me, but today, below his orange paper crown, he wore the body of an ancient warrior – posture perfection, deathly motivation, armoured determination, tongue-stuck-out-unceremoniously-across-half-of-his-face-concentration.

© Carl Burkitt 2023