You pound your feet to no avail; the chair remains resolutely rooted to the spot. As you do a gigantic figure looms over you... Gentle Geoffrey, former wrestling champion and part time machete weilding maniac, is a man-mountain. In his bikers' leathers he looks a little like an overstuffed leather sofa, exept that leather sofas don't usually have 'hate' and 'kill' tattooed on their knuckles. His face, or what little of it you can see behind the helmet visor, is a tissue of scar tissue. (Bless you.) With a grin that is more gold than teeth, he raises his machete. 'Well, this is it,' you say to yourself, and closing your eyes you offer up a silent prayer…