HELENA J. GINSBURG (1980-2007)

Late of Potts Point. Killed tragically last week at the age of 26 in a hit-and-run incident.

Lived an attention-seeking and extravagant life, almost certainly an adverse reaction to troubled early years characterised by abandonment and poverty.

Abhorred authority and was an extremely vocal supporter of anti-establishment causes. A consummate lap dancer but only performed these services when it was clear to all involved that she would never belong to any man. Fiercely rebelled against all attempts to domesticate her yet happily accepted any gifts offered in support of these attempts. Spent her adult years sleeping around, stalking and causing a number of very public and bitter catfights.

Had many redeeming qualities and endearing idiosyncrasies. Could rub people up the right way when she tried. Affectionately described by those close to her as a fastidiously groomed, lactose intolerant aquaphobic. Was fond of small animals. Once went out for the day and came home with a poor injured bird, which later died of complications.

Used a comfort blanket well into her twenties. Was proud of having six toes on each foot. Adored corn chips and smoked salmon. Had unusual fetishes for woollen cardigans, cotton socks, VCRs, computers, empty boxes and kitchen sinks.

Dearly loved and sadly missed by Tom, Francis and Mark.

Is survived by her cousin, Fifi, also a tabby.


This story was a Runner-Up in the Fish One-Page Prize 2007 and was first published in The Fish Anthology 2007: A Paper Heart Is Beating, A Paper Boat Sets Sail, Fish Publishing, Cork, Ireland, 2007.

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