I'm sat in the study of my two-storey house, scanning through my iTunes, when I spot it, "What Were All About". I remain still in my chair, shocked and horrified. Where is the apostrophe? I look around the room, as if to find it hiding behind Jane Eyre, or my latest copy of Punctuation Weekly. It's nowhere to be seen. I try to maintain my usual collected composure, but I begin to feel sick. Where is the apostrophe? I quickly slip it in, lean back in my chair, and sigh. Phew! That was far too close for comfort.
Shaking my head, I try to rid my head of last 3 minutes. What a horrible experience.
Taking a sip of my morning Coffee, I pick up the Newspaper and begin scanning the gigantic pages of perfectly puncuated text. I decide to take a detour from the path I usually take through the paper, and look at the latest movie releases. The first movie I spot, "About A Boy". Yet another Hugh Grant Film, I murmer. "Two Weeks Notice" is the next. Wait! I look back at it. Two Weeks Notice... All the words have been capitalised. And that's when I notice. Where is the apostrophe? I'm disgusted. I try to throw the newspaper down and rid my head of the horror I have just been subjected to, but it's too late. The image of the movie title burns into my mind.
I take another sip of Coffee, and plan my next moves carefully. I whip out a black biro and slip the apostrophe in. I feel better already, but what about all the other newspapers? I can't possibly draw little apostrophes into every newspaper in every househol in Britain! I try to tell myself that others will notice, but my inner stickler throws that ludicrous out of my mind.
What kind of world are we living in? I ask myself. What kind of inhumane monsters would do such a terrible thing? That poor apostrophe. It's probably sitting in an editing office somewhere, wondering why it hasn't been inserted into the text.
My inner stickler shudders and mourns the neglected apostrophe. What happened to the perfectly punctuated newspaper I adored so much? I tell myself it's not the newspaper's fault, and persuade myself not to cancel my subscription.
I may be a grammar-fiend, but that definitely isn't acceptable. I pull my body up from my dining chair and rush out of the front door, leaving my coffee on the table.
I try to tell myself it's not that big of a deal, I try to let it go, but it's itching at my mind, mocking my morals. I rush into my car and ignite the engine, enraged....

To be continued...