Dead and dying from lack of care and frozen by the cold. Shun the Bad Shepherd, drive him from your sight. Where was he when the lambs did stumble and bleated in their plight? EMMA TAYLOR THREW her hair straighteners across her bedroom and yelled an angry stream of filth. She had only finished half of her hair when they had sparked and smoke started to pour out of them. “What do I look like?” she screamed at her reflection. “Britney Spears in meltdown mode!” Stuffing her unfinished hair under a baseball cap, she stormed out of the house, without a word to her parents, and strode furiously down the street towards Ashleigh’s. Taking out her mobile, she punched up her friend’s number aggressively and waited for her to pick up. “What you gawking at?” she snapped at a group of teenage lads on bicycles, giving them the finger as she clomped by. In her ear Ashleigh’s tinny voice answered. She was squealing with excitement. “Ohhhh, myyyy God!” she cried. “You will not believe the email I just had!”
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