Picture this, a small, dark room, where the oppressive silence was only lifted by the furious typing of a keyboard. The curtains were firmly shut, and the only light that entered the room, was the repulsive, almost neon shade of white coming from the flickering screen in the corner.

If the room had been illuminated, which was as unlikely as a chicken walking backwards, it would have revealed a moth-eaten mattress, a dusty fridge - from which was coming an unholy smell rather like cat sick - and a highly depressed looking spider, that had probably realized that the odds of a fly entering this stuffy domain were not in its favour.

There was a man, hunched over the computer, but since he hadn’t moved in about four days, it could safely be said that this fact wasn’t remotely interesting. He was now part of the furniture as it were. The space around him was adorned with coke cans, pot noodles, and large stuffed parrot.

There was a very noticeable absence of life in this room. If an estate agent had happened to walk into the room, they would probably have said that it ‘had a contemporary feel’, which was just the kind of unintelligible statement, that only an estate agent could successfully pull off. But, back to the room. Something had changed, something other than the spider falling off the fridge. The man at the computer had just died.