Agreed, the world is in a continuous state of flux. But it is the time of the season for marked change. It all started early that Thursday morning.

The Eastbound Central Line tube pulled up at Woodford: TERMINATING. The doors opened and revealed a tall young man slumped over his seat in an almost feotal position, in the deepest cloister of sleep. He smiled faintly and rubbed his chin against his shoulder as the man in the giant blue coat gently shook his bony shoulder, coaxing him like a child, ‘You have to wake up now, Sir.’ After a few sways back and forth his head shot up and he removed himself from the tube, and rested his sleepy head on his knuckles after sitting down at the nearest bench. Zzz. [09:45] I know this feeling, but do not care to divulge the details of overdosing on Stugeron and sleeping right through Milan, the only recollection being hazy views of Salima’s clogs checking to see if I’d woken up yet or not.

Then, whilst trekking through the streets of London with Clog girl, she quoted the punctual lady on the District Line, ‘This is Edgeware Road, where this train terminates. All change, please.’ [12:10]

Affi leaned over at lunch, the tinsel hanging loosely from her head, and muttered something about exhasperatingly wanting a change. [13:50]


Picture courtesy of Aussie’s hero, Banksy. 

Tapping his umbrella absent mindedly upon the ground, as though knocking for Gog and Magog, checking for cavities, Harry II looked upwards to the sky. ‘I’m pondering change,’ he mumbled, almost to himself, ‘change…’ [20:48]

Meanwhile, Blobby dilligently pottered away in his laboratory, delicately responding to pieces of glass which were strategically laid out about him in order to communicate to him the science of the eye. This was change, for when he would arrive home that day, he would be tired. Then he would prepare to do it again the next day. [09:00-17:00]

Zuzu’s life was changing, too. She held her lexicons close as she stepped out into the unevergreen weather, hoping to approach those of eloquence with meaning.

‘Everybody has a choice in the matter ~

~ A test for one is a test for them all.’

Zuzu was often heard singing whilst do-si-doing through the carriages of life. And yet, whenever she caught sight of a Punjabi Khusra or an Urdu Hijri approaching the window of her car, hands outstretched, or whenever they butched themselves into the centre of a crowd and clapped wide-eyed whilst bellowing their bagpipe lungs, Zuzu would scream the shrillest of piercing chilling screams and press herself against the opposite window of the car, or escape to some surreal corner where they no longer existed. The Dalian quality of partly justified genderlessness they embodied in large demonstrative figures and affronts surely petrified her delicately flowing stream of ideas of perfect existence. 

And yet, the Doctor had informed them, regarding such third gender individuals, that this was largely a genetic phenomenon. Society went on to confirm that the richer your background, the less likely these innate tendencies would be allowed or able to develop. As for the poor, disowned and ejected from their homes as young children, to whom else would the social mechanisms cause them to succumb to, to take refuge amongst, apart from those who had experienced the same rejection? And Zuzu’s irrational fear and incosiderate repulsion? All change, please.


Picture courtesy of