The Crime Scene

Image result for police tape

All change at the Traveller site this morning. I’d walked up the hill in the rain, avoiding eye contact with every single gawping motorist who passed me by. Exercise is good, I’m told to do it regularly, but I nearly passed out doing my press-ups this morning. I guarantee that if I’m not eventually found slumped over this desk one day, I’ll be found prone on the bathroom floor in the face down position of a final failed press-up.

The site was empty. The Travellers had left the car park at the bottom of Black Rocks. Destination unknown. Maybe they’re setting up in your garden right this second. I’d admired their camp when things were up and running, and I’d walked through the middle of it a couple of times with a cheery ‘Hello,’ that always went unanswered. There were fighting Cocks, dogs tethered to cages, polished milk churns, artificial grass, and brand new BMWs. Never any response, though. Now all that’s left are the ashes of a large fire and a smashed up caravan, minus wheels. I guess some poor dosser (read – slave) took a beating before his caravan was trashed. His boots were still there, neatly positioned under the entrance. Door was open, inside wrecked. I wondered where he was, I mean, there are a lot of places up there to hide a badly beaten man where sniffer dogs would struggle to operate. What had he done to have his home taken from him?

In time they’ll be back – most likely around the same time next year. I won’t ask any questions when they do finally turn up. Prudence, and all that. And my body is better found at home than never found at all. With that simple statement I’ll leave you to find your own entertainment: maybe walking through Traveller sites, or hiding the body of a slave. Who knows how some people get their kicks in the privacy of their own illegal itinerant camping grounds in the woods?

Now the rain has stopped. The house is warming up in the dirge of mid Spring. It’s medication time. In a few minutes it’ll be weird enough in here for this morning to be forgotten. Maybe tomorrow I’ll read about some poor dog walker making a grim discovery that I side-stepped today. Life’s like that.


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