I see a Syrian Hamster at Pets At Home, my bike lock rusting so that I get iron oxide water on my grey jeans. They like to live alone, they are happy with small cages for living in. This little thing shivering in the corner of a glass menagerie. My kind of pet. I bounce the bike through the gears down CS3 and the storm clouds gather but although it’s been cock teasing for rain for hours, none has come. There was nothing worthwhile in the Next Clearance store and the sad pseudo-Bonsai in B & Q speaks nothing to me but alienation and jaded living, wrapped around an oriental rock chipping and slapped with a £12.99 price tag. Someone quits on me while 2-0 ahead on FIFA online and I realise the world is full of quitters, fragments and pieces of debris left in their wake. This many splinter’d thing is this way because they’ve hacked it to pieces.