Went for a walk at lunchtime today. This is something I used to do when I was still working full time and writing in the evenings (unless I was chained to my desk with a nasty sandwich and a Herculean pile of work to get through). I’d stay up late writing tales of murder and moderate mayhem, then sleep, then commute to work, then work then go for a walk to the supermarket and think about what I’d written the night before and what was coming next.
So, what the hell – sure it’s raining, but I’ve been sat here on my backside all year, why not go for a walk?
And I did.
There’s a dirty big hill and what amounts to a cliff between me and the point I turned round. The warning sign says “12%”, so it’s OK going down the way and a bit of a bastard coming back. And there’s no supermarket at the other end to make it feel like I’m actually walking somewhere for a reason.
BUT there was something. At the bottom of the 12% cliff there’s a sort of unofficial parking area where lazy bastards dump things. Or go for romantic encounters... Yup, in a parked car, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night. Probably with someone else’s spouse.
I was moderately surprised to see, lying by the side of the road, three empty Dairylea Dipper packets and a couple of used condoms.
The mind shudders.
Wonder if they used those little bacon rubbly bits? Textured for his and her pleasure.