She dealt with her condition as if it wasn’t there. It didn’t stop her but it did delay her. She invented the secondary syndrome. Every time she thought she had a situation under control, a second wave would come along and throw her off beam.

She’d suddenly sweat for no reason, on a dry brow, with no pressure, in a regular room. This late deluge could arrive unannounced even if her glands had already shed enough moisture to re-irrigate the Gobi Desert.

She lectured in secondary sleep. The kind of nap you have deep into the morning after a disrupted night. She taught insomniacs to master this technique, and cast off the guilt accrued when rocking up late for work.

When it came to sex, she developed what became known as orgasm echo. This random release of deep-felt carnal joy crept up on her up to 24 hours after making love. No specific act triggered the reaction. It could erupt anywhere: a supermarket aisle, turning right at a junction, at the launderette where she worked. She made no attempt to disguise things as those around her hid, or called the paramedic.

In her 80’s she even died twice. Only at the third time of asking did she finally ‘peg it’, as she always put it. She gave her body to medical science. Her condition solved motor neurone disease.


I, like you and next 98,000 in line, believe in democracy. The people will tell the truth and justice will prevail. If enough people have their say, you cannot argue with the outcome. Right?

Wrong. The issue here is ‘how many is enough?’ Will two do? Or do we get a more balanced verdict from a dozen, as in a jury. Yes, that’s a system that works. People get to vote on life and death matters quietly, away from the public glare, away from the accused. This enables them to evaluate every shred of evidence and decide on whether to send the defendant down, or let him, or less likely her, walk free.

But what happens if we increase the numbers, not by a lot, to say, 23…a nice odd number so you can’t get a draw? And you make the voting public, so that everyone can see whose hand is going up for and against? Is this fair? Are people affected by the presence of a hand going up on their side a split-second before they’ve made up their own mind? Does the Mexican Wave exist within a society of free speech?

This was the farce I faced today. Thankfully, no-one’s neck was on the line, but the idiocy and cowardice of peer pressure voting reared its sequacious head.

There we were, witnessing a Strategic Planning Committee (I won’t say where) discussing a project supported by the local people at a ratio of roughly 1000-1 in favour. Unfortunately for us, that ‘1 opposed’ was in the room. He had the floor for a full 5 minutes without recourse. He said whatever the fuck he wanted within the technical safety net of a ‘debate’. He’d buttered up his pals before-hand to stick to the script.

In the play-it-by-the-book corner, we listened, having stated our case in half the time and defended it to the hilt as it came under scrutiny of the most obscure order.

Rules is rules, but is one rule for one side and one rule for the other a fair set of rules in a democratic world?

Let’s vote on it.

All those in favour, expose your right knee.

All those against, call the local bobby.


Have you been yet?

If not, go.

If you can’t get a ticket, break in.

If you can’t break in, drop a tab and gatecrash any seaside Britain in Bloom finalist.

Welcome to Dismaland.

With all that’s wrong with the world right now, this is a meteorite in the aorta. It’s meant to be sad, bleak, dystopic but it’s funny, fun and fluffy. It even cheered the weather up. At a push, I’d say it could conquer peace in the most troubled corners of earth and re-wire man’s relationship with the planet if it stayed up another month or two.

Coolsters will slag it off. Gallerists will go back to their white boxes and start accountancy exams. School-kids will skive tomorrow and that act of truancy will make them more interesting adults. The people in it will occupy the beaten up lido when it ends and start an off-shore principality that Osborne will be invited to open in Spring 2016.

It’s everything Danny Boyle wanted to do in the Olympic ceremony but couldn’t. It’s its bastard twin, the one that love forgot. Yet within this hard heart pumps a blood that is so much more alive than anything you’ve sucked before.

One more tip: if you need glasses, don’t wear them. The fussy edges will only make it more fucking beautiful.

Whatever you think of Banksy, you have to take doff your spray can and say he’s played a blinder here.