An Encounter With Dan Brown In Tesco (An ‘Omage to H P Lovecraft)

After a series of internal combustions I found myself approaching an edifice of brick and glass I have been known to frequent when in search of microwave curry. I discovered a place to deposit and thence exit my vehicle without difficulty, there being many acres of tarmac available. Some unknown denizen of the depths of Kentish Hell, no doubt bedecked with orange fluorescence, had seen fit to mark the black expanse with lines of white paint, dividing the area into small rectangles, each corresponding to the approximate dimensions of a VW Golf. Why? Only a mind of incomparable size, of a vastness guessed at by the religious ravings of a lunatic priest as he attempted with his own puny organ to comprehend the enormity of the divine consciousness could have begun such an explanation - let alone reach anything one might consider to be a satisfying conclusion.

I shivered and drew my coat closer around my drooping shoulders. Immediately I was aware of a mechanical roar followed by a screech so piercing I feared for my sanity. As I cowered on the ground shaking I imagined I could hear angry voices beseeching me to move. I have racked my poor brains as to the meaning of these voices and have written down what little I can remember with anything that could be said to approach accuracy.

“Gt up oot th fukg wy ya bald cnt I nd tget my kidshom in tim for Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy”

The greatest minds of our fledgling linguistic sciences have so far failed to enlighten me as to the meaning of this inscription but I know, I feel it in the bloody marrow of my bones, that there is some great secret hidden within.

More on this at a later date perhaps though I doubt that I will survive the transmission of what followed into print.

I ran screaming across the black and white wastes towards what I foolishly believed was the relative safety of the supermarket as rebel angels blew their horns - a daemonic blasting I feared might shatter the fragile remnants of my reeling mind.

Oh! If only I had known what lay behind those automatic doors that hissed aside with such gentle and inviting pneumatic sounds. There I encountered a frenzied hoard of such debased humanity as has never been encountered outside of the Medway towns before (except perhaps some of the former mining villages of the Northern parts of the country). At first I could not see what was driving these, I hesitate to use the word “people” as such as I saw before me bore little relation to the respected and loved individuals of my former acquaintance, but I have no choice for it was impossible to ignore the truth my eyes presented to me - these were individuals of the human race - they were!

They spoke, chanted almost, an insane mantra that I scribbled down in my notebook even whilst my hands shook so much I could barely grasp a pen.

“Da Vinci Dan Brown Just Seven Ninety Nine Da Vinci Dan Brown Just Seven Ninety Nine”

They scrabbled with crooked fingers at an alter, yes! An alter! For I have no doubt that these people were consumed within the throes of worship. As each reached the alter they screamed in ecstatic delight and grabbed a chunk of it before flinging it into the wire mesh contraptions I now saw each possessed. I had seen enough. No - I had seen too much! I was overtaken by darkness. When I awoke the pandemonium had faded but I found myself incarcerated within an establishment I presume to be medical in some manner since the preferred form of dress appears to be coats of purest white...