Fairy wings to SAVE THE WHALES

I forgot that I had signed up for a parachute jump to save the whales. Actually, that is a lie BUT I thought I'd clicked exit before I sent the request. I wanted to think on it some. But they have already written to me in an email full of exclamation marks and gratitude. So it looks like it shall be done.

To begin with my flying endeavors to help those most noble of animaals, after a beautiful bbq (served up in the backyard on an ironing board) and lemsips; friends and me doused ourselves in glitter, gowns, ties, feathers and fairy wings. They are a flying tool. We spontaneously planned to go on a drive around London at 1am, taking pictures with every London landmark as we went. We did so.

We beeped at strangers and shouted and thrust our feathers out of Bigglesworth and tried to make him fly too. We saw Big Ben chime. We got chased away by a guard woman from Buckingham Palace, whom we told we loved. We got told people are trying to mine gold on the moon by a father, because our world is lost now. I trampled my slippers raw around Piccadilly screaming "Happy Christmas and SAVE THE WHALES!" and my friend, Red (I shall name them all in their own colours henceforth) collected kisses from strangers as if they were tokens of their affection. We even got followed by an MI5 camera outside the MI5 building when we tried to get to the Thames in the dark.



We lost almost all the pictures we took on that trip due to technological malfunctions. Above is one that remained. I think that made me a lot unhappier than it should have done.
I am a hypocrite.


Friday we went to Lightbox. It's an amazing club! It's completely full of little lights and they shine in all different colours in time with the music. I saw a lot of people there I would not have expected to, like Harry Windsor and other Eton type snobs. We had a close encounter with one by the cloakroom. We were told of his rank and how many "in line" he is to the throne and how much money he has, told how lucky we would be if only we could screw his arrogant feeble-minded self. Red replied "we live in a meritocracy nowadays, mate". Apparently the cited reasons should be enough to make women want to roll in the hay with any unfortunate-looking fortunate. Money and rank And they say feminism isn't relevant anymore. De Bauvoir turns in her grave.


Sometimes being in clubs is a depressing thing, even if you go with your best friends. Even if they are Red, Green and Blue. Everything is loud and dark. You are cutting off most of your senses and alter the ones that survive. And really you go there for the people. I saw a few very old people in the club too, all alone. An elderly lady, with wrinkles carved into herself and smoothed over with powder and makeup. She held a bottle of water. Responsibility in a sea of kids all needing to grow up and grow old, grow disheartened. Those places are full of them. Kids wanting to make a choice, make themselves pretty, make themselves valuable. Make a move. Build futures and build trust.Find eachother, and dreams, and forget them again.
Dry their eyes and disappointments and give out their numbers and ask "are you having a good time?".

And they all dance in that loud darkness with all the little lights, doing shots and hoping. Being templates and wanting everything they haven't had yet. Thinking they can find it all in Vauxhall on a Friday night.