Wellington was an underachiever who displayed little to no motivation, interest or enthusiasm in anything. His wretched and malnourished frame was a by-product of his lacklustre attempts at web construction; a skill, which should have been inherent, was a gruelling and epic undertaking for him. His table manners were disgusting, watching him eat was like staring into a cement mixer full of vomit. He eked out his pathetic existence, mostly by the sheer luck of a rare few, absent-minded, probably drunk aphids stumbling their way into his tangled, brittle and easily escapable trap. Perhaps the unfortunate invertebrates , who, for want of a slight physical exertion could have been free, were, even more depressed than their captor. The ones that did escape wrought havoc on the flimsy structure of the crooked and week web, which fell into greater and greater disrepair. He had no clue about maintenance, hygiene or for that matter, kindness. Who would care? Who indeed would ever even know, that, in his wanton despair, contemplating suicide but knowing he never would act, he sometimes messed himself, and was constantly masturbating. He had no friends, which was entirely his own fault. He made it so hard to like him, as he said so little, and what did come out of his mouth was always entirely pessimistic, moronic and boring. He had constant money trouble, he was forever in debt to someone or another and he didn’t care. He was stupid and was once robbed by a prostitute.
One morning, Wellington arose from a divine sleep, a warm glow thrilling his entire body and mind. His head was dizzy with pride and purpose as he began spinning a lush and healthy silk. The adrenaline pumping through his limbs made them feel painless, ready, and able to work at overcoming the challenge they were about to encounter. The warm sunlight bathing his eyes reflected a heart with nothing but infatuation for the world. With a feeling of love and contentment so true, he began to question; was he dead; no definitely not, he could remember every meticulous detail of his dream, and with unbounded joy, this festival of a creature was ready for anything.

St Petersburg: Paris of the North or City of Bones?

Stilt Walking

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour….

It might be a lovely day outside at least I think it is I can hear bird song and children playing. I can almost feel the spring blossom on the breeze that is eking its way through the cracks in my window; as I say it might be a lovely day outside but I wouldn’t know, this is all utter supposition because I am sat inside, blinds drawn, practising a peculiarly male phenomenon; no, not that one, one which I have decided to call the Facebook Sleaze.

We all sit at our computers acquisitive natures furiously tap tapping away peddling our volumes and volumes of flummery to all and sundry, with little or no regard to what we are actually saying, yes, I suppose a little like I am prone to do here. The internet for all the innumerable benefits and specifically Facebook allows us to fully and irrationally expose ourselves from the warm security of our cloistered little habitats. We are forever projecting how we would like an ever shrinking world to view us… of what we would like to be. I can say yes look at me! I am keeerraaazy I am. Kanye is sooo totally the saviour of hip hop God what a ledge, totally lurrrve the old school really like Tupac and gangster rap. Check my profile pic I even look like him, I got it going on, see that’s me in the studio. I’m a DJ, I like jungle, grime, dub-step and garage, …got no decks though, maybe I will attend, maybe I won’t, it’s that one-a- penny, two-a-penny vibe you can’t manage and countless other things of no interest to anyone but myself. Oh and did you see the album of my holiday in Dubai? With me on that deserted white sanded beach? Love that one.

A notable by-product of this is the Facebook sleaze, there are many kinds of Facebook sleaze (in the hands of the most accomplished practitioner the Facebook sleaze can be a thing of rare orchestral beauty) they range from the bait to the super bait and everything in between. So we all know the ones, maybe you met them on your average weekend down the pub for a drink and a laugh with your friends, and you wondered why he asked for your last name. Then, lo and behold, a couple of days later that nice young man has added you on Wastebook. No, no, no, do not be fooled, maybe I am just a stone hearted cynic, but this man is a Facebook sleaze.

I am sure many of you have written and received those innocuous little messages that I can almost guarantee go a little something like this ‘Hey there it was great to bump into you the other day what you up to?’ or better yet ‘I thought I saw you the other day it wasn’t actually you it was in fact a complete stranger but I remembered how attractive you are, and now I see you are listed as single, fancy a drink? Then there are the private message Facebook Sleazes who are a sneaky cut above the rest, they are uniformly all chiefs and their end game regardless of however well meaning they may seem is always the same: sex. Some come correct with their proposition others tend to skirt the issue. Their modus operandi is an introductory message much longer and over familiar than any sane person would commit to in real life, normally out of the blue. One that muses on their slightly off-centre personality, drawing the recipient into their life, forcing a contrived connection that says I obviously understand myself, I understand people, I understand you and I can help you to understand yourself better. I suppose there is nothing wrong with this kind of out-reaching, after all we are all universally nothing but bit part players, ruddy red smiling faces poking out the bottom corner of the frame desperately saying yes! Look at me! I was once upon this stage, I existed and passed through.

And what a stage it is! We can foster inter-continental relations regardless of race, sex, social standing or creed at the click of a mouse! The world in a grain of sand, a virtual microcosm where I can be anybodies friend and yet everybody is a stranger because for all our holiday snaps and status updates we are no more or less than the tiny pebbles on that deserted beach shore, an insignificant one among many, forever watching the tide creep in, and in the end the sea, like we were never even there, will reclaim us all.

Next week: What is this jungle music?

http://www.londonswimming.org/page/:Learn_to_Swim