Dangers of an Idle Mind

Seems foxes are really settling into the suburban lifestyle; even bringing into the well tempered gardens of Surrey the kind of behaviour that normally is reserved for behind the white patterned net curtains. Let me explain, just before Christmas I was in England, staying at my sister’s house in Surrey, I was very intrigued when one morning I opened the curtains and noticed a black object sat in the middle of her, otherwise blemish free, lawn. The object looked about eight inches long and a couple of inches across; it was a glossy wet from the morning dew. Over breakfast I mentioned the object to my bother-in-law. “It’s a fox.” he said. I peered out of the French windows at the black thing; prominent and obvious on the lawn. “No it’s not,” I said, “it looks like a kid’s training shoe.” “I know it’s a shoe,” said my brother-in-law, rolling his eyes at my sister as she entered the room and sat down, “The shoe was put there by the fox.” “What, a real fox?” I asked “Like Basil Brush or Fox...

It didn’t feel that cold. I mean it was clearly below freezing; my breath was misting and the walkway was glazed in uneven ice, but what I’m trying to say is it looked even colder than it felt. It was unusually quiet; I guess not many people had ventured out yet. The birch tree across the way had turned to glass and was drooping towards the pavement under its new weight; it’s every limb a tube of ice. Nearby a glass skirt of icicle fronds hung from the bumper of my car. My shoes slithered as I moved towards the car, the icy surface feeling like a tray of marbles beneath me. Mercifully, the car unlocked at the press of the key fob. Setting my feet as best I could I pulled on the driver's door, it opened with a loud crack. Inside the car it was darker than usual. The heavy icing gave the appearance of frosted glass making it feel like a surreal shower cubicle. I started the engine and waited for the car to start warming up. Sitting in the frosted cocoon just waiting was pretty dull. ...