I lie in my bed, stiff, warm, completely encapsulated in this shelter of sustenance and safety. The blanket, my only safeguard from the plethora of evil which erupts when the moon goes down, able to calm and soothe my nerves from a hard and tedious day, relaxing with the machine which provides my entertainment, the only thing keeping me alive, on the verge of suicide, is the thought that Ainsley Harriott will be on everyday when I come home from work. I contemplate the folly of human existence, our innovations, revolutions, advancements which have proliferated through the power of the human mind, to reach the apical point where the current situation of humanity is conveying that God has abandoned us. I take my mind off the pessimism that shrouds my life, and try to rest. I am sleeping, the bed around me, the blanket, the sleep, it is true bliss, the rush of intense satisfaction, a desire in my life, albeit short lived. My body has a sinking feeling, as if I am in an airplane descending, I quickly come to the realisation that my body, is no longer one with the kingdom of comfort, but levitating, In time, my body falls down, sinking back to earth. I recuperate myself and deciding that I am awake, I will try to just gather and collect my thoughts in the bathroom. I enter, the cold, ceramic titles against my feet, as I aim my face near the mirror, I see a vague figure. It is black, it has no hair, and a laid back shirt. I turn my face from the mirror and face back at it, but the figure has disappeared. I am befuddled on what just happened, and I hear a sound, "Meat… Spice… Rubbing…" It echoes across the room, across my ears, and into my mind. Another sound echoes "Time to oil uppppp…." The voice sends a shockwave of fear across my body as it eviscerates all reasoning in my mind.I feel a cold sensation on my arm. I turn my head in disbelief. I see a face, immediately recognising who it was. It was Ainsley, my god. He picks me up with his incredibly powerful black British hands and takes me away, to the unknown oblivion, maybe to the spice gods. Who knows. But he gets out the oil, rubbing it on me and getting ready. "What is going to happen?" I ask. Ainsley responds in excitement. "I like my subjects like my olive oil. Extra Virgin." We fade into the shadows, never to be seen again, but with my favourite person. This is the meaning of happiness.