Roko’s Sourdough
A Lovecraftian tale of eldritch horror descended from a seemingly innocuous modern staple.
We just couldn’t help ourselves.
We just couldn’t get enough.
We just didn’t know when to stop.
It wasn’t just that tasty wholesome bready goodness that wecouldn’t get enough of, it was the daily meetings with workmates on Zoom during the recent pandemic that we all looked forward to with eager sweaty palm anticipation too.
No, of course it wasn’t the endless JavaScript functions nor the Head of Design’s witterings about minimalism vs. Kandinsky, or even the use of the Mondrian palette in the UI, it was when we got to hold up our schoolboy wooden 12" rulers and measure the size of our growing sourdough experiments.
I can’t remember when it all started exactly, perhaps it’s all of the dreaded carbohydrate I ate at the time that clouds my memory, but there were few things of hope to latch on during the early days of the Covid times as we lumbered from one lockdown to the next, not knowing how far we could walk down the road before being escorted back with a police escort.
I know we spent an awful lot of time at home, with so very much time on our hands, and that’s most likely when we started to stop washing the pots and pans, inadvertently left open a half used packet of…
