It kept getting out of hand; it kept going down too many
roads; it kept ending with me spilling bile. Frankly, I’m tired of spilling
bile over the nasty, misconceived actions of ignorant fools – and dangerous
fools at that. I just hope we can get through the next two years without any
more riots or too many more people being rendered destitute, and then sweep
them into the wilderness. It didn’t get written.
Let’s do the walk instead.
* * *
I was struck again tonight by how plaintive that lighted
telephone box looks in its little dark place at the bottom of Bag Lane. It’s
still doing its job, you see, as it has for maybe six decades. It’s still doing
its duty by lighting up every night as the darkness falls, standing ready to
facilitate the needs of the Shire folk. Only nobody comes any more. And I’m
sometimes persuaded that the genius loci is a credible and literal concept. I
saw Poltergeist 2 (or was it 3?)
But then I got a little spooked in The Hollow. It’s the
first time I’ve ever felt spooked down there. A place that grows swathes of
wild garlic on its embankments has to be a friendly place, right? Well, as I’ve
mentioned in earlier posts, those embankments are steep and rise to around
fifteen feet in places. At night, it’s very easy to imagine a large,
unidentified shape skulking along the top of them. Could it be heading for a
spot where ambush would be easier, you wonder. I switched my imagination off
and thought of Laurel and Hardy.
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