Summer 2005, I go with a group of eight people to Greenwich park for a picnic. We are dressed in puppet uniform; plain white cotton with painted dolls faces. Attached to our wrists are elastic strings which, when we sit down, we attach to each other. In this way we cannot eat without pulling someone with us. The rules are that there is no talking. There are three Dutch and five English puppets. The Dutch are more tactile, easily pulling and resting their hands in each other's laps. Most of the English are more reserved, politely taking it in turns to feed and eat, holding their arms awkwardly when not in use. I am quite selfish, jerking the food out of my neighbor's mouth as I feed myself. Others spend their whole time giving, smoothly adapting their posture to accommodate the needs of others. Together we form a bizarre concoction of movement, a jellyfish of greed. The work draws to a natural close after half an hour. Most of the food is eaten so people rise, detach themselves and walk away. The silence is not broken.