By Lee Allen
My Run-In With The Illuminati
Out of fear for my own wellbeing, it has taken me a few weeks to come forward and discuss the so- called ‘Digital Podge’, an event shrouded in secrecy, ran by faceless shadowy figures.
With little idea of what to expect upon our arrival, my imagination had crafted an image of drunken aged aristocrats gathered in an ill-lit masonic temple, smirking and spilling expensive wine as they discussed content. Marc insisted we arrive late evening, he didn’t want us bearing witness to the sacrifice that takes place at these luncheons, our young eyes were not ready.
As we arrived, severely underdressed to the Institute Of Directors, my imagination didn’t seem wild in the slightest. On the way to the cloakroom, we walked by statues and paintings of Lords and Barons, dating back to centuries past. We were in the belly of the beast and there was no turning back.
*Downstairs we head* there, with the most devilish of grins upon his face, stands Marc Lewis, no doubt fresh from devouring a small animal, his company a little worse for wear. We stand there wide-eyed, comforted by the presence of Kenny and Mary, waiting for the group’s acceptance… within moments Sasha is handed a blazer to help disguise her roadman-esque attire, they had sensed we were imposters.
Scared we’d been sussed we made a beeline for the bar, our plan? To consume as much free alcohol as possible until we too could be mistaken for having had an unfortunate bout of Bell’s Palsy. Quickly returning to the bar for drink number two, I spotted a mentor from SCA who had helped me a week or two previous, he reintroduced himself, failing to recall me at first through his red-wine-induced blur, he began to tell us about the golden days of Podge, simpler times full of mystique and wonder – where powerful individuals gathered to ponder the coming digital age. As our wine did a disappearing act, we managed to delve deep into the subject of Scandinavian holidays before he swam off into an ocean of networkers, never to be seen again.
Now I’d love to continue the narrative beyond this point but all I remember from here on is the bacon rolls, the glorious bacon rolls, the pig slaughtered by none other than Jesus Christ and the Brioche Buns crafted by god himself; until you’ve dined at the Institute of Directors, my friend, you know nothing of bacon rolls.
If you don’t hear from me again after this SCAB, Marc did it.