It had been a long, cold and intense night.
Decaying leaves and general woodland dross still clung to and fell from my jacket as I made my way through a gap in the hedge and finally emerged onto a narrow potholed lane. Opposite; an overgrown trestle bench, the only sign of what may have once been a bus-stop, offered at least a place to rest and roll the first ciggy of the day.
I could see no sign of rising smoke from our neglected campfire, must be at least a mile or more from there to wherever here was. Typical of me to wander off just when everything was getting interesting. Typical of me to get completely lost too and end up crashing out, mumbling and wide-eyed under a holly bush.
Roll-up wasn’t helping, adding to my nausea, spinning my head and lining the morning with a faint sense of unreality. I flicked it still burning into the dew damp verge.
I’m too old for this … We’re all too old for this
Away beyond the road a magpie cast a rattling cackle through the leafless branches of a long-dead oak.