fuckin rad dude

Tree roots of pavlova!, originally uploaded by George Hayford-Taylor.

The Tale of The Snail:

A little while ago, deep within the deepest depths of the amazonian rainforest, in parts little explored even by tribesmen existed a small settlement of rare snail. All lived in harmony and peace going about their daily activities, tending to their wares and nurturing the baby snizzles. Our hero to be (a young, intelligent creature) was out and about one day as he always was. A keen interest in exploration of the forest drew him further and further away from the settlement and as time progressed he decided that his adventures on this day should lead him to the forbidden tree of foresight and wisdom which was only to be approached by the shamanic snail of the group.

Feeling fool-hardy and high on life, after a little look around to check no one was watching, he threw caution to the wind and began to feast on the fabled bark, in blatent disregard of the tradition of his elders. Oh how he ate, ate like he'd never eaten before, in a veritable frenzy of saliva and woodchippings. After he was through with the illicit meal, he stopped to smoke a pipe and have a little lie-down under some sort of mushroom. Pretty soon his vision began to get a little blurry and certain colours became much more prominent and his shell actually started to vibrate at quite a high frequency. 'Hang on a minute, this isn't normal' he thought to himself as non-existent creatures began to enter his peripheral vision and various plants around him began to pulsate in time to his own heartbeat. He barely had time to regret feasting on the Tree of Pavlova before he found himself casually cruising through hyperspace at a rate beyond his control. Time was non-existent here and after an un-known period, maybe days or weeks, he blinked and was in the middle of a large plaza, surround by tall buildings of concrete and glass. This was Alexanderplatz and he was in Berlin.

A completely alien environment rendered our hero confused and disorientated. Bewildered by the monumental structures, blinding city lights and mechanical sounds of passing trams and automobiles he slowly slimed his way in a circle around the platz for hours. After about four hours of sliming a curious sound caught his ears. Warm frequencies and repetitive beats made his eyestalks tingle and filled him with fresh energy and determination. He followed the positive vibrations to the outskirts of the plaza and down a non-descript stairway, he was filled with uncertainty and excitement about what lay beyond.

The sights and sounds that greeted him far exceeded his wildest expectation, everywhere he looked ecstatic molluscs were shaking and grooving under an array beautiful multicoloured decor, eyes closed, lost in a myriad of lights, movement and meditation. Music wafted through the air and hours of sliming passed, where not a bad sound was heard or sad face pulled. This was atmospheric perfection. A place where all could reach the same state of elation under one roof something like the shamanic gatherings of the small amazonian tribe but with crisp smooth sounds carrying the molluscs on their journey. Smiling to himself our snail realized that this is what the Tree of Pavlova had intended for him. By the end of the party he had accumulated some knowledge of the music from the friendly German snails and how he was to again find something of this beauty.

The next month or so was a blur of parties. He now wore fine urban designs on his amazonian shell (which seemed to glow a little more after each night) and wasted little time outside nightclub and hot tub. Friend to many DJ's and a choice selection of powerful players in the underground music industry, he was at the top of his game. One morning he woke after a series of microdreams in his sequence of snoozes and realised that he must spread his knowledge to the people of Europe. His adventure took him to many capitals, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Budapest, Kiev (where he learned to bake pastries), Ljubljana (where he learned the art of cheese rolling) and Moscow to name but a few. Presenting impeccable parties to countless numbers of snails and leaving waves of mystery and musical consciousness in his wake our hero was indeed a noble creature. London was next. He arrived amidst the warm months and proceeded with his usual promotional activities. On the last Saturday of July there was to be held a monumental event running across two days showcasing the finest European talent including several of his DJ friends from Berlin. The doors opened and a flood of shelled party goers descended upon the 4 dance floors eager to have a piece of the action. The night was a huge success and he was invited to one of the English DJ's afterparties. The house that they were to return to was in Clapham Junction an area unknown to the snail but even though the DJ said it was a bit of a journey to get to he accepted.

The final snail slimed tiredly out of the club and the crew began to remove hangings and projectors. He stuck around to oversee that everything was going to plan then left for the station with his new friends. All in high spirits still energised from the music they had not a care in the world but on the way to the station great misfortune struck. They were accosted by an unruly group of slugs who mugged them for their wares and slimed off at top speed to be lost from sight just as quickly as they appeared. Luckily one of the snails managed to escape with his debit card and bought tickets for all the others. They boarded the train and after a few stops there was no one left in the carriage. Just before the group reached Clapham Junction, or heroes bladder demanded he visit the toilet. The train stopped and he tried to open the door with no success. He heard his friends leaving the train but in their inebriated state had forgotten that he was in the toilet!

To his horror the train began moving and he was forced to endure the smelly imprisonment for the entirety of the journey. When the train finally stopped for good a helpful train cleaner pried the door open for him and with great relief he slimed off the train to find himself in the city of Brighton. As there were no more trains back to London he decided to slime around until daybreak after contacting his friends to tell them of his predicament. The white coloured buildings and hilly streets sat on the background of a deep green ocean and a fresh saltiness breezed against his feelers. What is this place!? He thought to himself. The day rolled on and the snail became more and more captivated by the city and so decided to stay for a few days. He headed to the bank that afternoon with his passport (which he had sneakily tucked into his shell when the slugs had assaulted him and his friends ) and managed to withdraw some money for a reasonably comfy hotel room with a sea view. The Brighton days turned to weeks and nearly a month went past.

Suffice to say our hero had found himself once again in a place which felt like home but this time required his precious skill and incredible talent. The adventure that the Tree of Pavlova had laid out for the snail had brought him to the place where he felt aligned with the essence of the milk of the great dachshund and would throw some parties that the city would never forget.

NO SLUGS.

DEEP SNAIL

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