Part One

Pugdeon was a small man. When his mother was alive she would tell him the story of his birth and how his father could hold him in his two cupped hands.

Being under size from day one meant many things for Pugdeon. Things great and small, things good and bad. Things, that most people he ever knew never knew about him. And for most of his life thus far, things that Pugdeon didn't fully understand himself.

He liked making stuff. A fact a lot of people did know about Pugdeon. He would lay awake at night and think of what he could create. Often it meant taking something apart just to see how it did what it did in the first place. A trait he had inherited or learned from his father.

At the age of eleven Pugdeon watched with intrigue as his father gradually collected twenty six broken televisions. They were large and old, the type where the picture tube was housed inside a wooden exterior.

After work his father would come home and retreat to the back shed where Pugdeon would stand at the doorway and watch him carefully dissected each. The picture tube was discarded and every component was kept in a designated shelf or draw. To be reused, modified, utilised for another project.

The wooden cabinets were lined up along the inner shed wall, at ready, to be turned into shelves, tables, bench seats. Or for the time being, handy tables brought out at each Sunday barbeque. Which in itself was a green enamel combustion stove that had recently been removed from Nana's kitchen.