"A Chip is a thing of the past"- Discuss Mark Deegan Picture our scene; the sun is setting on one of the first days. A gentle mist rises, filling the air with expectant coldness that catches the breath. A pink and orange subtleness fills our eyes. All is pleasant. No history has happened to bring scorn; no sinicism penetrates the mind of the lonely figure pissing in the wobbly light circling him from the round, red burning departure of the sun. He is the first, there will be others, oh yes, he will not be the last. He slumps on the green dewy hillock and lies on his back, staring upwards at the now forming stars in the early world night sky. Something irks him. He has never felt this feeling before. Never has he been so overwhelmed by a desire so strong as this. And yet it won't go away, he cannot be satisfied.
What troubles our early friend from so long ago? Is he amazed by the wondrous world that is forming around him daily? Is it because his early mind cannot give him answers to his questions, why, what and how? No. His trouble is simple. He is fucking starving. And nowhere on God's green planet can you get a curry after eleven pm outside of Bradford. Even if it is a thousand years before the invention of fast food.!! Our friend's problem has been caused from his own newly found interest in everything. He innocently called upon one of his mates earlier that day and was fobbed with some ridiculous liquid that was taking up room in his friend's workshop. Borne from some pre medieval desire to create gold from lead, our friends acquaintance had thrown random ingredients of Hops, yeast, sugar and water in a bucket and forgot about it. When our friend became a nuisance by declaring a great thirst, the random liquid had been thrust upon him. It tasted shit, but still he drank it. The alchemist had been utterly shocked at the behaviour that followed. Mind you, not as shocked as his sister! Our friend now finds himself staring at the sky without the faintest fucking clue how he got there. He was fucking starving. The joy that overwhelms him when he remembers his father's cheese store is simply orgasmic, and he trails some five miles back to his family's farmstead. He crams the crappiest, ropiest cheese down his throat until he can take no more and collapses amongst the chickens for the most rewarding sleep of his life. Unfortunately he was awoken early the next morning by an angry mob who gave summary justice and burnt him alive later in the afternoon, proclaiming that he was possessed by some devil. But at least the cheese had done the trick on the last night of his short life.