A tree house conjures up a wonderful, peaceful escape from everyday, adult worries. My friends and I made one in the woods when we were angry kids. It helped a lot.
They're not all like that. On a walk, just up the hill about half a mile from our house, I came across some haphazard accumulation of branches, corrugated iron and other debris that was clearly an attempt to build a tree house. The odd thing about it was the lack of low-down branches or any other means of clambering up there. I was out collecting sloes for my gin at the time; not, I hasten to add, drinking it. It starts to get dark around 8:00pm. As I was leaving the field, some strange, stooping creature shambled across from the opposite direction. I stood perfectly still against the hedge and watched.
Such an odd climbing style. He (or it) must have had something metallic and sharp that clamped to his elbows - something that dug into the trunk of the tree. Either that or something sharp protruded from his bones.
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