It should be noted that leeches are still used (for certain ailments) by the medical profession, supplied to hospitals and research laboratories around the world. They are an incredible creature, dealing in the 'natural purification' of a wound or area through the practice of 'blood letting'.

It should also be noted that a great deal of research and Government resource has gone into 'information streaming & purification', or to those who are terminologically savvy 'cutting the crap'. This does not however extend to Government legislation, documentation or literature, promotional or otherwise, which could be condensed into very simple statements, but never is, ever. All Government documentation is deliberately 'small print inverted', which put simply, means all things of a technical and/or legal nature become the main body of the document or 'big print', leaving the 'small print' footer space for limited clarifications and simple plain English 'exclaimers'. Cunningly designed to target specific human weaknesses, they usually (but not exclusively) underline the hideously complex nature of the document, your complete incompetence in comprehending the document, and how you really shouldn't be signing it (or anything else for that matter) without a very good lawyer to understand it, an accountant to work out how much it's going to cost you and a direct line to a Mr G. Bush in Washington, should the lawyer and accountant fail to show.

An entire print-run of the American'ized version of the English Dictionary had to be pulped due to a neurotic type-setter's unauthorised addition to the 'Government' entry: 10. blood letting leeches.

Rumour has it that 'waiver computing functionality' is being built into the next generation of mobile computing devices to assist with the tedious task of form-filling. Hidden in the wonderful feature-feast of options and semi-automatic functionality you know exists (because you read it on the sales blurb) but never dare use, these algorithms will be finely tuned to pick out the salient points of any form or document, no matter how technically or legally complex, in any language, and despite the coffee stain. Interestingly, these devices will apparently 'grow on trees', thanks to fruitful research into natural cellular organic computing. Moral issues and many puzzles still remain for philosophers and brainiacs to solve. Meanwhile marketing departments have tricky, spiky, pointy, uncomfortably sharp, multi-faceted tessarectal (or poly-anal) questions and mind-numbingly complex dilemmas of their own to deal with, 'how big?', 'what colo(u)r?', 'usb?', 'will it play mp3s?', 'read my hotmail?', 'do my taxes', 'make tea?'.

Simple questions?

Sometimes the simplest, most obvious question is the hardest to ask, unless of course it's by accident. Then it's called something else; embarrassing.

In the spirit of a complete and total 'excrement cull' and for all the speed readers who've just picked out the keywords from the above as follows, 'crap' and 'embarrassing' or those who subconsciously associated the word 'incompetence' with 'G. Bush', this brief episode of 'When Cagey Met Heron' has been naturally condensed (ironically, not through a banana 'brain', a pear 'head' or an apple 'imind', but something far more cognitively advanced, ....a prototype bush named George) into these ez-scan™ meta-gist-phrases™ : "Attractions are visited, fanny bags are searched, loved ones are missed."

Setting off that morning Cagey contemplated the navels and other types of oranges which surrounded the place which for two weeks would be his home. He wondered if what he'd read in New Scientist would be true in near-by years to come, and what net effect it would have for the guy who owned such an impressive expanse of groves. Would our 'grover', he or she, soon regret selling off some of the land to property developers who'd built all these shiny new domiciles, swimming pools, tennis courts and of course a Walgreens for much needed leech provision. After all, fruit would be 'in' and silicone would soon become the next 'out' technology, restricted to those hideous implants and enhancements which turn beautiful young girls into haggard gargoyles. Hmm, sands of time......

"But I don't even have a fanny" thought Cagey accidentally out loud to the "Disney Police". The guard kept her head tipped forward but raised her considerable eye brows revealing the dazzling, brilliant whites of her eyes as she droned "any caymras, carryeealls, or fanny baygs" with special emphasis on the word "bags" as if to underline her destain toward a certain misunderstood tourist.

Cagey, very red-faced, moved on.

As he strolled the embarrassment faded, reflected by the changing shade in redness of his milky complexion. He smiled back at all the beautiful people, though he wasn't too comfortable with all the, well, for want of a better more 'real' word, 'Disneyfication'. The concept of a city-sized shopping complex with only one brand and a couple of novelty rides to amuse the children didn't sit right with him. He felt like he'd missed something, even the words of the great "Walt" himself didn't seem real-world-sincere enough to bring comfort; at least not without a variety of character designs, a mouse-eared label and an obscenely inflated price tag.

Despite his reservations many others making the pilgrimage seemed happy enough, content with their characterised fast food and authentic keepsakes. So, what was wrong? Cagey wondered if he was being unfair, or simply moody due to the strange environment and cultural shift, missing those he'd left behind perhaps? Having said all that, he knew one thing for certain, he would rather have "Waldo" than "Walt", or preferably a smaller, more sincere character who did his best to do magic tricks with chickens. Anyone with a blue nose and bug eyes and a friend who's a frog must be more stable as a person than an empire building megalomaniac who "dared to dream", he thought to himself.

He drifted, in thought, in reality, in time. Turning another litter-free corner and kicking out at thin air (for lack of anything even vaguely resembling a coke can), he glanced up and stopped in his tracks, almost falling over with the momentum. His mind had deemed physics insignificant when compared to the splendorous sight which shone before his very eyes.

He stood completely still, in awe.

In the distance an invisible electronic being searched area 6, section d, following an anonymous tip-off 'sighting' of a man kicking a coke can. It searched, paused, scratched its head and accidentally hit the green 'invisible' button on its chest in the process. Too busy to notice, it puzzled at the empty pavement, walked in a confused circle, paused, looked up, then down, then at its chest armour which shone so well in the blinding mid-day sun. Having checked the 'prank call' box on his rather offical looking job sheet, paperwork complete, the being stood there in the middle of the empty, litter-free street, proudly buffing the shiny metal plate which read 'literary agent - Pilgrim' reveling in one simple thought..."clean". Finally noticing in horror the once green 'invisible' light had turned into a red flashing 'visible' warning, it flapped its arms in a bit of a panic and then simply...vanished...