Viruses (virii) get a bad press in science fiction generally. In films such as Virus, Outbreak or Twelve Monkeys they are presented as a threat to the survival of humanity. This reflects the fears associated with historical pandemics such as influenza in 1918, and more recent panics around SARS, avian or swine flu, and BSE.
SARSElsewhere, for example in 28 Days Later, Zombieland, the Underworld and Resident Evil series, and the forthcoming Daybreakers they seem to be replacing demonic possession or voodoo curse as the origin of the vampire, zombie, and werewolf. The reason may be that this explains the transmission of the “condition” by contact or bite; also using these explanations brings the monster myths up to date and introduces science or science fiction elements to the plots.
HIVOccasionally viruses are used in more subtle or original ways: in Alastair Reynold’s novel Chasm City, a virus induces flashbacks from the life of a legendary figure; in the film Code 46 an empathy virus gives an investigator near-psychic powers of interrogation while it appears that other viruses can force code violation criminals to hand themselves over. In Greg Bear’s novel Darwin’s Radio the reactivation of a viral genome hidden in the human genome triggers an evolutionary leap.
Swine fluIn real life viruses may be deadly but also fascinating: they are the simplest lifeforms on the planet, some having as few as seven genes; they may hold the key to curing both viral and non-viral illnesses, in the case of live vaccines from cowpox onwards we are fighting fire with fire. The idea of silent viruses inserted into the genome is also plausible. In science fiction it’s hard to think of positive portrayals of viruses: the only one that springs to mind is the common cold responsible for foiling H.G. Wells’ Martian invaders.
Photographs of Luke Jerram’s Glass Microbiology sculptures are used here with the kind permission of the artist.
I've particularly enjoyed this Art 2.0 experience: looking for the pianos took me on a tour of familiar and unfamiliar London, and it's been fun watching the mini-events, friendships and collaborations form spontaneously around the pianos, playing or singing along myself, and meeting other piano-seekers of all abilities. Different locations have drawn City professionals or citizens, travellers or tourists, giving the crowd around each piano it's own feel.
I'd like to acknowledge 
Streetpianos and One&Other have in common an artist who, instead of creating the art themselves, is facilitating involvement by hundreds of users. Of the two, Streetpianos feels more spontaneous. Both Art 2.0 projects say something about our willingness both to participate in creativity and to watch others; the friendly supportive crowds make these events very different from the sinister world of reality TV as there's no competitive side. Streetpianos is a nomadic festival moving from city to city and I look forward to a return to London some day.
Skulking amongst the debris that had been Liverpool Street Station I came across a feral piano, battered, patched, weathered. Pianos were once kept as pets by the pre-Recession super-rich; pampered, tuned, entered in prize shows. Only the finest scores would do. Now the survivors roam the streets unchecked, searching for scraps of music amongst the rubble and litter.
I spotted another piano here in Devonshire Court. These are hardened beasts, evolved beyond the pretty creatures of their heyday - observe their weatherproof shells. Should you find yourself in a close encounter with one, stay calm. Resist the urge to run. Approach very slowly - let them see you coming - and play something gentle and soothing. Singing is also recommended. 
It's a piano-eat-piano world out there - this specimen had come off worst in a fight, and so dragged itself into a corner of St. Paul's Churchyard to lick it's wounds. The piano itself survived but the stool will eventually die - and there's no guarantee that a new one will sprout.
I found this piano scratching out an existence beneath the Gurkhin, a pre-Recession henge or monument to the glass god. Standing out in the open, it had lost any fear of humanity and did not shy away as I approached to play it.
I understand pianos. Abandoned by my parents in a musical instrument warehouse as a helpless babe, I was raised by a Knight upright and a Clavinova. Pianos are conservative at heart. The leader of the tribe, a Bosendorfer, wanted me thrown to the howling strings but a sympathetic glockenspiel intervened on my behalf and taught me the laws of music. To this day I still dream in blues scales.
But when I discovered the secret of rock and roll I knew I had crossed the line that separates man from keyboard instrument, and I went out into the world in search of my own kind.
The range of colourful markings on these feral pianos may represent a new, disturbing evolution: tribalism. Alternately they may be a form of camouflage - this piano has taken on elements from the surroundings of Leadenhall Market. Feral adaptation is a sign: life will find a way.
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