Closest to the Wick

It's all gone horribly wrong for Wickman. In an idle moment he measured, using Google Earth, the distance between his house and the Wick (as defined by the clubhouse) and John Hilly Hill's house and the Wick. Walking from Wickman's house to the Wick you have to pass John's house so it would make sense that John had taken the title of nearest to the Wick over the Summer. This was seriously ruining Wickman's Autumn.

Why does it matter who is closest to the Wick? It matters. The closer you are to the Wick during the year the more Wickness can rub off on you therefore making you more Wick. If, like Wickman and Hilly, you are relatively late joiners to the Wick, not having been dandled on the knee of Wick royalty (a la MS for example), or like Matty D the son of a fomer winner of Wick Man of the Year (or some other coveted bauble) or not yet an Honary Vice President, you need all the Wickness you can get. It's like sitting that little bit closer to a warm fire after you've been out sledging.

So Wickman was absolutely delighted to discover that, by a couple of nanometers (according to his measurements, taken off the PC screen with a piece of hairy string and Winnie the Pooh ruler), he was soaking up more Wick than anyone else in the club. He could, he swears, feel the extra Wickness soaking in. It has healing properties. It can ward off wives with DIY plans in Winter, prevent outbreaks of random gardening and even, it is said, embolden a man to give up alcohol and attend the Fatboy in search of fitness during January.

Pity Wickman's pathetic delight then when then finding out that Alex Wright and Mrs Wright lived evenclosertotheWickthansomeofthedeerinthepark. Then celebrate with him as he discovered that they had moved to Hampton, or Hampton Hill - irrelevant in Wick ray soaking circles - just ask AJ - the boy looks more pale and drawn than Mike Proctor after a day's play down under... oh what joy, what capers, what jigs were danced!

Oh but what vile calumny befell Wickman then! Innocently returning from a hard day's toil in London's Covent Garden, convincing clients to purchase large bales of hot air and tins of scotch mist he bumped into Steve "Darth" Vader on the train. As South West Train's gleaming loco pulled the duo closer to our own dear HQ the skin of both improved, their hair took on new lustre and fellow passengers felt the power of the Wick radiating from them and all felt at one with the world.

All was well with Wickman until Vader left the train, and, in a moment of idle banter, mentioned to Wickman that the great thing about living where he did was that he was only two minutes from the station and three from the Wick. THREE FROM THE WICK! Wickman cannot even make it in three minutes in a car! And on foot, even sprinting like a man who has had no sex for a year on a promise with an innocent looking but highly experienced courtesan, he can't do it in less than eight. Vader is closest to the Wick. He's closest to the Wick by hundreds of metres. Hundreds of metres man! If he had a ladder he would be able to SEE the Wick from his house. Wickman is now a sadder man. Like people in the artic circle who need special artificial sun lamps to boost their serotonin, Wickman is investigating now how to bottle the Wick so that a small jar could sit at home in his living room to get him through until April... perhaps an egg sandwich in the fridge???