If I had a familiar it would resemble less a nervous exotic animal than a chipped enamel sink. You would not find it on my shoulder but in its natural environment at the bottom of a derelict canal in the industrial Midlands. Our connection would be the source of my special powers, which would neither mimic nor metaphorise its qualities but be unmistakably sink-related. I would feel no emotion towards it even when events caused us to be separated and tortured. A sink can feel nothing. That is the baseline or default quality of a sink. But wherever I went I would know that out there, bedded beneath the slow black water, never more than a mile or two from my present location, its energies focussed, site-specific and calm, there my sink would be.
Love that. Can’t beat a bitta kitchen sink gothic.