The Snelston Fiction.

A car pulled up beside me in the lane today. It contained two young women who looked to be in their late teens, and the girl in the front passenger seat asked me:

‘Could you tell us the way to Snelston?’

‘Of course,’ I answered, but then my face assumed a look of concern. ‘Oh dear,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘You have dark hair and blue eyes. The people of Snelston are a bit funny about people with dark hair and blue eyes. Something to do with a bunch of wild Irish labourers who did unspeakable things there back in the 17^th century. They’ve never forgotten it and it’s entered local lore. Still, you should be OK as long as you don’t do or say anything to upset them. But if you should see a man with three nostrils – he has the usual two plus a third in the middle – be careful. And one of his eyes is bigger than the other. And he has some sort of growth on the side of one temple which looks like a horn. Best avoid him if you can.’

The girl in the passenger seat said nothing but regarded me quizzically. The driver smiled and said ‘You’re having us on, aren’t you?’

‘I am,’ I said, and then gave them directions to Snelston.

And that’s how my mind amuses me when I’m sitting alone in the garden at twilight with a cup of tea and a pack of malted milk biscuits to dunk in it.