It's Thursday evening. I escape my unwanted guest to meet friends at the pub - a weekly commitment or is it something I commit to weakly? Good evening discussing Scottish independence, proof readers obsessions, the latest films and how they should be given the 'old git review' treatment, as well as who's turn is it to buy a round of beers and a bizarre range of unnaturally-flavoured peanuts.
On the way home, skirting Beechen Cliff, the street - Greenway Lane - is a autumnally damp and misty. There is a 'jyk, jyk' sound, although the street, apart from a few parked cars covered in condensation, is deserted. Every time I turn I feel there is something there just at the cranny of my eye, but it's gone. The sound gets louder, so much so that I feel I need to break into a run.
Then, before the road turns right and heads down toward Lyncombe Hill, I can feel the road surface being pounded by hundreds of animals. There are so many badgers heading towards me. I don't know why. If I stop, will they run by? Are they heading for me? Why would they?
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