So sorry you had to wait. Got held up. Hi-pri MNP pulse call. Anyway... So, Gemma. And Steve. We left off where they both know. Know things have been going downhill, on a mudslide, for a while. Around them. And between them. So... They’re planning to make time. Serious time. Soon. Straighten it all out, you know? Face to face. Not easy to find a slot. Steve’s business going ba-boom-boom. And Gemma, hopscotching it from studio to kiln, care home to craft fair. Not quite the early retirement her NHS pension got slaughtered for. And yet... They’ll make it happen. No more messy surprises at least, now that Bertie’s gone. Where there’s a will, and all that. Happiness. It’s all about balance, right? Not expectations - they’re evil. Nor contentment, because that's just cruel. But happiness? That ought to be doable. And both of them are smart enough to know that. Surely.

[unsung] What have you done?

Resigned premonition. Not to call it glum. The mood at Presso Now, I mean. The coffee bar where Steve sits tight, nursing his phone and a double espresso, waiting for an update from Gemma. She didn’t return home last night from another parental care home visit. They’re frail, on edge, confused. Just like Gemma’s nerves. She’d be in touch soon, she texted. Kiss, kiss. The humble TV tries its best to restore reality. Crime down, house prices up, by double digits in the Caribbean regions. And phenomenal service sector growth. But there’s always someone, isn’t there? “I’m not buying this Life Lite crap anymore,” Beano bursts out. “MNP approved or not.” Henrietta beside him lowers her Phalaris sandwich, nodding sympathetically. “What’s MNP, anyway?” “The one and only Ministry for Narrative Preservation. We all voted for it, apparently.” Well, Beano’s American, and so graciously forgiven. As for Henrietta – she ought to spend less time underwater, maybe. Even the Overseas visitors here, like Manny and Butzi from Germany, would surely know the answer. If anyone asked them. Not that many do. Least of all Steve. He’s too busy waiting. And it’s not just his drink that’s going cold.

I'm just here for when you need me And I'll be dust when you don't Dumbfound, enchant and feed me Always fresh but never owned

“You always walk with a purpose. I mostly try to follow my feet.” That’s how her letter opens. Trapped moisture, frozen visible at last. “Each time I trip you catch me. Smartly. Or barely. Tenderly. Sometimes angrily. Like a tiring reflex, maybe, or a leash, tightening...” Steve’s world shakes, and her words with it. Both hands clasp the single sheet to read on. “Does it get much worse?” Spikey cautiously asks from across the table. “I’m feeling a bit dizzy here.” The folded map he’s holding gives a sharp crunch as if to prove it. Steve merely nods, gulps down some lifeless air. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But I think I need time to learn how to fall. Freely.”

Feuchter Wind, verklärte Sorgen Heute Nebel, schöner morgen

“What does ‘ir-re-trie-va-bly’ mean?” A light-brown flash as Felix looks up sheepishly. Steve stops studying the document on the kitchen table and rubs his nose. “It means forever.” “I see.” Steve knows Felix doesn’t. Nor does he. But that no longer matters. The keen sound of whistling comes as a welcome distraction. Anton and Bill, culture-surfing for the upcoming trip. “Hey - I know that tune!” Steve tells them. Anton nods rhythmically. “Na klar. Neunundneunzig Luftballons.” “Die Rap Version,” Bill adds, then shrugs. Steve gives in to a smile. “Any crime’s better than this one. I can’t wait...”

Give us drugs to keep us trying Stop our minds identifying Egg or chicken, strike or stricken Shame won’t stop a lie from flying Smooth seduction is the mother of abduction Likes anoint the arbiter of nerd-proof satisfaction A million friends can bend any trend Until runaway transaction turns into ruthless suction Let’s do it right, let’s maximise Smile, don’t ask, to win the prize Words are free, just don’t say no To hot air, cold objects – HACO Kaiser, König, queen or pope Guillotine beats telescope Diversify und Spaß dabei But don’t hijack hope, sonst kommt die Polizei Let's go tweak the truth to suit your sweet face Let's try make the world a much dumber place There are no hobgoblins, no hobbling and wobbling Only those on the right side, and those in disgrace We can almost smell the future App-gezockt, but always kosher Groomed and sated, on fleek but exsanguinated Replicated, der ferngelenkte Wärmetauscher Jetzt mach das richtig, uns ist das wichtig Mit grinsen wird doch nur die Norm beschwichtigt Ein Man, ein Wort – dein Griff ins Klo Hot air, cold objects – HACO Watch their destiny darken – Kannst du abhaken Ruck-zuck durchstarten We’re sorry you’re departing But Fahrenheit says Schluß mit Warten In his panopticon of house-trained foxes It’s clear HACO works, the tired doc says And trapped inside our drafty boxes Who are we to disagree Plummet, tackle, crisis, trending Go treat yourself while we’ll do the bending Upgrades lactate, floodgates vibrate Revealed: the truth may need some mending High time to foil the prying eye Transcend, transmute, transmogrify Some worlds have bigger fish to fry But ethics or Essig, ich nehm’ das jetzt ganz lässig Let’s do it right, let’s maximise An honest question will suffice Trust reaps riches words can sow But if it’s TGTBT it must be HACO

A loud clack, and another cupboard sighs open for inspection. This ought to be cathartic – Steve’s chance to purify before investing in a fabulous ‘me’ makeover. But instead his resolve seems pierced by as much anger as foreboding. Huxley dives in and nimbly explores the lower reaches. “ ‘Pioneer Box,’ “ he reads back. “Is that for out?” Steve can only gape in silence as Huxley starts rummaging through it. “Look at all this junk! An old kettle, a toaster, plastic cups, paper plates, tools, plugs—” Falstaff gives a feeble cough. “Easy now! From what I’ve seen, this junk could help turn uncertainty into a new home. Once...” Falstaff looks back to find Steve hurriedly leaving the room.

No grain Returned Each name Unlearned Don’t tell Don’t ask Respell The past Sealed forever Now or never Never better Hidden intentions Weep you fools Nobody mentions Our crown jewels Cloaked emotions Pay the bill Beneath an ocean No tears will spill And all that was dear Can disappear Press “new” to clear Look at all this junk Easy now, easy now Look at all this junk Kettle, toaster, plastic cups Look at all this junk Easy now, easy now, easy now Fly by night Dance all day Who’s right Can’t say Short cue Long grass Sand through The hourglass And all that was near Can’t interfere Press “new” to clear No fuss no fear Press “new” to clear Look at all this junk Cups and paper plates Let's flush it out for good I'm sure it's not too late Look at all this junk Easy now, easy now Easy now

“Dependability,” Bruno suggests. “Or perhaps order?” comes Heiko’s offer. Bendix thrusts his head into shot. “Transparency!” Clearly no shortage of opinions on the gist of Steve’s photo, snapped only minutes earlier outside his German hotel. The coffee table’s tubular stainless steel frame, so neatly cut, welded, chamfered and brush-finished, had struck him as the visual epitome of this “otherness” he was experiencing. “You’re all right.” Steve smiles gratefully at his assembled friends back home. “To me it also says, ‘no excuses.’ And no gloss paint spritzed over rotting wood. You know?” On screen, Punter nods cautiously. “Yeah. Nothing quite pricks taboos like plain quality.”

I could be your garden gnome And you could be my elf I would keep your fairy lantern On my potting shelf You could be my reading light While I unlock your spine Let all your knowledge fill me up Complete my grand design Line by line We could widen our horizon Shaker-baker, difference maker Take a mind trip, join a tribe Use your credit, pay back later They could teach us satisfaction Where to linger, how to flow Help interpret each attraction Get the most from any show Here I go Changing my latitude To find the right attitude Re-build my core strength And find a lost wavelength To see through this pastiche And unplug this invisible leash They could be your prison guards Or your most trusted friend Their blade in hand is atom-sharp And painless till the end We could fly a few hopes further Cling to the wings you stole Until empowerment recoups And claims another soul At fate pole You could be anywhere tonight While I reset my spine Out here no prying eyes can sneer At dreams of me and mine I could be a hypocrite A house without a home Regimoclast edgelord, the giveaway floorboard An elf but not a gnome ... Changing my latitude To find the right attitude Re-build my core strength And find a lost wavelength To see through this pastiche And unplug this invisible leash

“Public quarantine: it’s free, automatic, irrefutable. All I need is a little individuality and a healthy disregard for hive minds. How absolutely awesome is that!” That’s Steve, off on another sarcastic rant. However rebalanced he claims to feel after the trip, his often self-indulgent outbursts say otherwise. “Deffo.” Tatty looks too chill to disagree with anyone. “No social platform means you jive a beat short in the old friendship fandango.” “And look as boring as recycled muck,“ Morag adds with a snort. A low growl from Bartok. “Not to mention: highly suspicious!” Steve gives a feckless sigh. “Yes, relationships are all about numbers these days. Loyalty is irrelevant.” Wasn’t it always?

I watch you, and you watch me Life is a movie that we’ll never see But down in the credits They might have read it’s Just a kriegspiel And clearly unreal Quarantined by heritage Sliding gliding by the trip switch Lost in quicksand Found in no-man’s land Touch-and-go Bushidō Let’s count them all out And count them back in From noble to nomad From lead to stand-in Obsequious armies And some pinless grenades Let’s trade treasure for measure Until one of us fades Quarantined by heritage Sliding gliding by the trip switch Lost in quicksand Found in no-man’s land Touch-and-go How to renounce quality - in 7 easy steps: Step 1 - dignity: lose it Step 2 - independence: don't be selfish Step 3 - responsibility: abuse it Step 4 - morality: tell them jack shit Step 5 - choice: go with the flow Step 6 - value: aim low and watch it grow Step 7 - reason: let go when we say so Lost in quicksand Found in no-man’s land Touch-and-go Bushidō

“Hey, it’s like the Caucus Race run on treadmills.” Boston’s arms swing open wide. “A whole big forest full of them.” Rosie skips, flushed with excitement. “Right! And each one fitted with a generator that powers its neighbour.” Doing the washing-up, Steve chuckles at the unhinged imagery. “The laws of physics would need suspending. But I’m sure there’s an app for that too.” “Too right,” says Plato. “It’s called Respect and comes with a steady smile.” “And free sponsored upgrades,” Hector pipes up. “Day and night.” More laughter. How insensitive. But all the more revealing to report on.

Wellbeing, dignity and limitless respect Ambitions forged afresh each day by mass effect Which fundraiser, storm chaser, and whose apology It’s their invasion, our persuasion The price for peace – a travesty Trusts, committees, NGOs and kickass acronyms Steering groups and town hall meetings help to hide all sins Say it often, sing it loud Cross your heart and shift the blame into a cloud Once it smiles it won’t get caught With each embrace more faith is bought And from its shadows, day and night The creeping vines of Life Lite Brand creators fan hot air into unravelling sails Blow-up monsters roar to tip the balance of our scales Mighty jungle, mighty beast Comeuppance lurks for those who blend the least Once it smiles it won’t get caught With each embrace more faith is bought And from its shadows, day and night The creeping vines of Life Lite Your promise not to judge us and never to offend Is paid for by immunity when bigger vows get bent Phantom pain and quantum shame help feed the illusion Winging it puts guilt in charge of unified confusion Flying blind now, you and me Their price for peace turned out to be our tragedy Once it smiles it won’t get caught With each embrace more faith is bought And from its shadows, day and night The creeping vines of Life Lite

“Trying to forget is like beating yourself to sleep.” “It’s quite unnatural, yes,” Milky agrees with Steve, probably to cheer him up. Bryson removes his hat and stares at it. “And dangerous,” he says. “It’s easy to end up flooding way more than just the snake pit.” Steve keeps circling the living room, inmate-style. A pathetic overreaction to this morning’s letter. Which had merely formalised the inevitable by granting his request. “By way of effect, not cause,” he corrects me bitterly. “If you can’t see that then you’d better be gone.” “Oy vey!” goes Buster, startled awake. “Who on earth was that?” “No one. Don’t worry. Just another gandabot.” “Strange creatures,” Vossler says. “I’ve heard that they hate mirrors. Is that true?” A solemn nod from Steve. “Yes. Most good liars do.”

[unsung] Home?

Your new mantra for our better world: 1. You deserve so much more 2. Try everything 3. Be whatever you want to be Lost wisdoms of recent antiquity: 1. Less is better 2. True freedom only grows within 3. Question everything