Up in front is a wall. It is tall, it is straight, and it has got holes in it made by silly processes of weathering that bore out the useless, soluble minerals typically found in limestone and granite, and a mixture of them will only refuse to combust in the highest of temperatures. This presents a problem. The problem is that there is no way to burn down the wall when it is no longer necessary. A way to break it down is simply to wreck it, blow it up, or drill into it until a section gives way and there is a hole big enough for your deflated ego to scamper through. Or, you can scale it. You may die from the attempt. You may successfully go up halfway, only to be overwhelmed with overconfidence and euphoria, and watch your steeled limbs give way like the wax on Icarus' wings. You may give up after the first few attempts. You may find the endeavour too difficult, too punishing, too discouraging to the spineless soul that you have been burdened with due to your own disappointments over the course of your otherwise miserable existence, unfortunately augmented by yet another failure. You may succeed, though this only happens rarely. In fact, this happens so sparingly that case studies are like droplets in an ocean of self-pitying prunes. But those droplets do not blend; they do not melt into obscurity. They scale the wall, and leave the wall behind, intact, so that the lesser of us may look at the wall in awe, wondering what is on the other side but never developing the spirit to overcome it. The wall is still there today. And it is higher than ever. It was there yesterday when I last checked, and it will most likely remain there tomorrow unless I have died and been carried away by no less than twenty two angels because of my ridiculous girth-to-height ratio. Okay I lied; I'm going to hell, so I won't be able to fly up and over the wall. I chipped at the wall a little bit today. Scaled it, failed, fell and became demoralised. But tomorrow I will have another go at it. My reason is simple. I refuse to be a prune. --

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