I Feel Fine
By Richard Marshall
Copyright 2011 Richard Marshall
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“What’s your zombie escape plan?” had been a party game; a way of finding out if a newcomer was “one of us” – could think outside of the box and wasn’t thrown by the bizarre or the uncanny. At most it was a way to talk and think about disaster preparedness without sounding like a nut-case. One thing we all agreed on was this: when The Shit Hit The Fan, we’d all meet at Eric’s.
Eric had used his undergraduate thesis to rediscover the secret of Damascus steel. He’d blown his student loan obtaining a genuine 16th century blade and subjected it to every piece of equipment the university had access to while living off of kale soup and vitamin pills. His bowel movements that year were the stuff of legend, but he managed to come up with a facsimile that was close enough to fool Californians. He leveraged that into a workshop in a brick walled yard in a provincial market town, far enough from London to be affordable, but close enough that friends could come up for the weekend – and we did. There’d been a natural diaspora after university, but we still orbited round Eric’s yard. There was always a cup of tea, crash space and a demo of his latest project: solving the “pauldron problem”, for example, or creating allegedly palatable and nutritious “algae chips” that looked like science fiction props.