Sunday, 29 January 2012


Don’t be slow, you can’t be slow, you must be fast. Faster, better, faster, stronger, better…more courageous.

You must be smarter.

Campaigns to be noticed, see me, look at me, notice me. I am better, best, the best. I am taller, broader, shorter, quicker. I am quicker than him, them, all of them. I’m more humble, gentle, and gentlemanly. Campaigns to be greater, great, the greatest. The most intelligent, witty, and fantastic. Campaigns to be there, not there, but here, here with you, in front. Campaigns to be ahead, to be in front, to be the highest, first, the winner. To win. Campaigns to win. Win the game, beat the game, be the game. Campaigns to move faster, think faster, consume faster.

Post more, tell more, share more, know more, know the most, post the most, share the most. I am the most. I am the most of everything. Campaigns to better us, to better you, to be better. Know, tell, nurture the future, you know the future. Tell, hold, and command the future. You can’t be behind, you can’t be behind, and you can not be behind.

Struggle, race, fight for the front, push for the front, battle for the front.

Saturday, 21 January 2012

How much does your building weigh Mr Esposito?

Buckminster Fuller, or Bucky to the few, once asked his under the wing compatriot of architecture, how much does your building way? Mr Foster was duly stumped by the question, but with his much envied handle on the profession he commands, within a day he was able to answer.

As an employee of Foster and Partners, I live and work in the shadow of the companies’ commander and chief with the aspiration to be as dedicated, as skilful, as phantasmagorical as he is. But after watching the film of which is entitled by the aforementioned question, I was able to answer in seconds out stripping my hero in his ability to answer so promptly. (Below is me trying to be him...poorly)

The answer was zero, the building weighs nothing because it simply does not exist. I haven’t a house to call me own, nor a rented place that I would regard as home. I’m in a state of limbo with little in the way of a positive and stable direction. With the step into the wider world from the general safety of a life of study, the requirements of moving out, finding a job, and learning the trade in the workplace is a reality for most. But London is starting to bring up some rather challenging hurdles, ones which I’m stunningly tripping over on a regular basis.

The cost of rail travel is constant metro daily number to be brought up by journalists, bloggers and commentators a like. The draining plight of the commuter, the unacceptable standards of morning rush hour, and the increasing cost to endure these daily pleasures. But it is the housing of these people that is most troubling.

Whilst the cost of travel is increasing, it is the cost of housing that is kicking me in the face, hard, over and over again, right in the face, in the nose, stamping all over it. My quest these past few months has been turned to the location of suitable accommodation where I can work rest and play, and have a couple of pennies left over for a near frozen pint of Irelands finest, a packed of Rolos, and a vegetable samosa form the those ‘local’ shops that frequent our underground stations.

But as simple as the desire for adequate accommodation at a fair price might be, the staggering rise in rented accommodation is frightful. But worse than the cost of spare rooms where you may have to remove your lifestyle from a selection of luxuries, are the spaces where the less fortunate find themselves. During my hours flicking from page to page of hovel after hovel, the reality of peoples living conditions in this ‘world leading’ city become troubling rather than frustrating.

With rooms at £70 per that offer little more than a single bed, two stoves, a sink, one cupboard and a shared bathroom in an attic, I would argue a case of there being something wrong. Now at this point I would love to offer up a solution, a joyous revolution to the housing crisis that is seeping into the city. Alas, I have nothing…

… and with all things written on staggeringly large issues, there a far wiser, smarter, and ingenious people to listen to, read about, and question than the Saturday afternoon rattling’s of a confused boy.

Monday, 16 January 2012

Twitter me this

Since the start of the new year there has been much to talk and gripe about, the blistering cold days have started to breach our wintery attire, the FTSE could still do with a stiff drink and a Viagra or two, and Prince Charles is talking. But an old fad has nestled onto my phone as a new thing to indulge in.

Twitter has led me to broaden my lust for information from the worlds of design, satire, F1, and any traveller that has a touch of wit and charm. But more unfortunately, it led me to immediately keep a distasteful watch on ‘followers’ and how this may…or as it turns out, may not grow. Apart from the steady flow of quick links to a vast array of pornographic web sites from @sexy_cindy43 who really likes my abs (I have none), the following is small, but a niche market is perfect for me. No burden on perfection, of pleasing a mass, but there was niggling desire to get a big name ReTweet, or commonly known as a RT.

So I set out in a late night task of @ing some of the big guns, but primarily Mr Fry, the national treasure, the crown jewel of QI and ultimate twitter king. But my problem was that I had nothing of interest for him to bite. I needed to create a hook, a beautifuly dressed nuanced gem, full of delight, humour, insight, intelligence, and flow all in the limited 140 characters permitted. I had nothing…nothing, not a drop of anything...and eventually this was blurted out.

is it a myth that three the story of the three hedgehogs from Rotterdam forged their way to devils dyke in a glorious fashion?

What was that? What was I trying to achieve…as it happened nothing was aforementioned and it was a failed task. But it led me to a new place, a new venture to pursue…what did happen to the myth of the three hedgehogs? How did they make it? Where did they stay? What tools did they use?

It’s all to follow in the next entry….until then please follow for more failed attempts of RTs @petresposito