of my truck and drive my octopus around the city; down Kings Parade, Market Square, railings clustered with plum-faced quartets, high bookshops, the delivery entrance of Dixons. Me, and the ﬁrst octopus on Earth to ever see the spires of Corpus Christi, we crawl past picture-book parks, cyclists weaving diagrams around us. My octopus has never known the sun to burn so bright and yet so cold, his huge eyes rotating, taking in every dog, every crisp, every Medieval crack and splinter. I toot. He waves. Cambridge loves you, baby! You’re unscrewing this city like a jam-jar! And everybody out here knows the deal: how he could squeeze through a ﬁssure no bigger than their thumb and be gone, suckering off over the high walls, rearranging those blue plaques into new historical assemblies. The arrogance! And who wouldn’t want a piece of it? Who wouldn’t follow this octopus deeper into the city, beyond those turrets where teenagers dream in a dead language, through ancient refectories, over suits of armour into studies once paced by Charles Babbage. Who could resist following that watery path? Somehow reminiscent of the ancient river that cuts this city in two; that endless, unquestionable life-force that every new generation relies upon to make them feel utterly stupid.
and illustration zine No. 2 Spring 2011 £3 FERMENT No. 3 Summer 2011 £3.50 Literature and illustration zine Literature and illustration zine Winter 2011—12 FERMENT 100 £3.50 No. 4 Literature and illustration zine Summer 2012 FERMENT 100 £3.50 No. 5