Legend has it that Ernest Hemingway bet his literary rival F Scott Fitzgerald that he could write a six-word story that would make the reader cry. He won the bet with this: ‘For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.’
I have my own six-word story that would reduce any self-respecting cyclist to tears (although whether with sadness or laughter is a moot point): ‘Punctured. No spare tube. Walked home.’
OK, it may not pack the atmospheric punch of Morrissey suffering
