The Professor glides in on his well-oiled wheels, smooth as a baby’s backside and rather less savoury. Ever the professional, he professes interest, though leaves it up to his auditors to calculate percentages. Further, he professes concern, though all I hear is con, and that’s enough to get the gist. Finally, he professes a desire for change, and his minions disperse around the gleaming new hall to shake us by the ankles until our pockets are empty. I am speaking figuratively, but if there’s one thing the Professor professes most profoundly, it’s a grasp on slippery figures which, though undisclosed, are of prime importance. The wheels, he insinuates, are in danger of coming off, but from here they look brand new and flashy – maybe Vossen Novitec NV1, with a matte Space Grey finish? – and he only needs to nod towards the bloodstained altar to indicate that, once more, we will all need to make sacrifices. It’s not pretty, but it is, he wishes to assure us, an essential precondition for profit and, after all, it’s the market. He opens his hands like a moth-infested wallet, professing his regret and his heartfelt thanks, as he glides away without stopping for the single question that’s on everyone’s lips.
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
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