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2 November 2000
Jamie's under fire - and not a chicken to be seen...

I've come up with two theories, and I'm not sure which one's scarier. Either they're all ganging up on me, and there's a cocoon out there with my name on it, or a mass uprising is planned and I'm the only one who's twigged. Either way, I'm probably running out of time. I'd better bring you up to speed while I've got the chance.

Have you ever been walking down the street - and I'm talking true urban here, no trees in sight - when you feel yourself breaking through the thread of a spider web? Thing is, the nearest wall is about ten metres to your left, and there's nothing the other end could conceivably have been attached to (apart from several passing cars - I did say conceivably). So you spend a few minutes with this flimsiest of threads waving in front of your eye and catching the light like a crack in your retina, snatching at it from time to time and clearly looking like a lunatic to any passer-by.

So far, so normal. But three times in a couple of days? In two completely different towns? That's when you've got to start to worry. So I did.

It soon became clear that the spiders have been keeping tabs on me; from the webs I've broken, they'll know exactly where I've been. With a bit of basic patterning work, they can probably work out where I'm going. Now I need to know a couple of things: what are they going to do to me when I get there? and is it just me, or do you all have to start to worry?

Seconds first. I think you lot should all be in the clear, at least until they've dealt with me. The logistics for staking out my movements must be enough of a nightmare; multiply that by however many thousands of people are on this planet, and that's a pretty big headache for arachnid intelligence. So the chances are they're either just doing me, or they're doing us in threes at most. Not a problem if we're quick.

So, why me, and what's going to happen? This was pretty baffling at first: I'm nice to spiders, I throw them out the window rather than killing them when they get stuck in the bath, even the big scary ones (I find it impresses the ladies). The obvious answer, then, is that they're not working alone. Far from it.

It should have been the first thing I considered. For a start, all the hard work of keeping track of my movements: spiders are lazy buggers. They just sit in their webs till a meal comes along. This operation smacked of teamwork.

Secondly, when you're in the shit, always think who you last pissed off. That's an easy one for me. It's always the moths and the mossies.

If there's a Most Wanted list out there among the six-legged winged invertebrates, I'm probably quite high on it. If it ever went to court I'd walk, as I can claim self-defence (most of the deceased gnats are coated in my blood as evidence of that) or at least provocation. But bounty hunters are another matter. It's got to the point where I have to make a detailed search of my room before I can even start to disrobe. Sometimes I sleep with the light on.

[There was even a hitman waiting in the villa when I went on holiday. Moth the size of a bat, and I am not kidding. I have photos of it dwarfing a bunch of grapes. But I digress]

So the insects have called in a couple of favours with their more advantageously-limbed colleagues. This is a problem. Mossies you can hear coming (only at the last second, but that's enough time if you're experienced). Moths are annoying, but dopey (turn a light on and watch them turn around. Or light a candle, always a laugh). Spiders are quick, quiet, and smart. If they've learnt teamwork from the bees or the ants, a crack squad could have me cocooned in bed within ten minutes, leaving the mossies free to suck me dry. And any one of us could be next. You're going to have to take action.

Here's the plan. We should be able to convince the spiders to go back to eating the buggers if they think they're on the losing side (like the Italians). We just have to demonstrate the superiority of the powerful individual over the collective (put another way, why Communism is crap). So go out there and kill all the insects you can. Feed them to the spiders if you like; they might appreciate it. Just convince them that big is best. Size matters. Va-va-voom.


Previously on upsideclown


Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
13 October 2003. Jamie writes: The Persistence of Memory
22 September 2003. Jamie writes: The Email Eunuch
1 September 2003. Jamie writes: Credo
11 August 2003. Jamie writes: Brad and Jennifer and Me
21 July 2003. Jamie writes: Interruption
30 June 2003. Jamie writes: Do you remember the first time?
12 June 2003. Jamie writes: Forthcoming Attractions
19 May 2003. Jamie writes: Stupid Mistake
28 April 2003. Jamie writes: Hoping and Praying
7 April 2003. Jamie writes: Strangers on a Plane
17 March 2003. Jamie writes: Q&A
24 February 2003. Jamie writes: Altered States
3 February 2003. Jamie writes: How to say goodbye
13 January 2003. Jamie writes: In A League Of Their Own
23 December 2002. Jamie writes: What's in a name?
2 December 2002. Jamie writes: Lies, Damned Lies and Spastics
11 November 2002. Jamie writes: Memoirs of a Gaysian: A Preface
21 October 2002. Jamie writes: Love is blindness
30 September 2002. Jamie writes: Time for bed
9 September 2002. Jamie writes: Angry Exchanges Can Be Puzzling [10]
19 August 2002. Jamie writes: High Speed
29 July 2002. Jamie writes: Firkin Hell
8 July 2002. Jamie writes: Do you, er... haiku?
13 June 2002. Jamie writes: Unnatural Porn Thrillers
20 May 2002. Jamie writes: The Triumphant Return of the Septic Fiveskins
25 April 2002. Jamie writes: Meeting People is Easy
4 April 2002. Jamie writes: I Want I Want I Want
7 March 2002. Jamie writes: The Player of Games
11 February 2002. Jamie writes: Fat Man Walking
17 January 2002. Jamie writes: Passive/Aggressive
3 January 2002. Jamie writes: Love (classified)
29 November 2001. Jamie writes: A Lil' Nite Muzak
5 November 2001. Jamie writes: Natural born liar
11 October 2001. Jamie writes: All I need
17 September 2001. Jamie writes: Postcards From The Edge (of the pool)
23 August 2001. Jamie writes: Class act
30 July 2001. Jamie writes: Ritchie Neville is dead
5 July 2001. Jamie writes: A Letter from God
11 June 2001. Jamie writes: "If it's in French, it must be deep"
17 May 2001. Jamie writes: Reportage
23 April 2001. Jamie writes: Show me the Logos
29 March 2001. Jamie writes: Sobering Thoughts
8 March 2001. Jamie writes: Stupid, Stupid, Stupid
8 February 2001. Jamie writes: Spent
15 January 2001. Jamie writes: Full to the brim
21 December 2000. Jamie writes: fuck xmas
27 November 2000. Jamie writes: Eye Candy
2 November 2000. Jamie writes: World-wide-web?
9 October 2000. Jamie writes: Kids' stuff
14 September 2000. Jamie writes: Scatological Warfare
21 August 2000. Jamie writes: I can't stand up (for falling clowns)
10 July 2000. Jamie writes: The Etymology of Greatness

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