WW 22nd February 2006

A walk for the bold and cold and select few on the darkest night I can remember for some time.
A black woollen glove whipped away by the wind but tracked down by the peerless moorland scavenger.
A will o' the wisp gateway.
A huddle of bemused military Dutch with warpaint (and caps) clinging onto the White Tor standing stone.
John(Your usual correspondent is on leave - so I can mention the Cull without the fetters of his namby-pamby, pinko, bleeding-heart liberal sentimentality. It will strike soon. When you least expect it. With ruthless precision. Without pity and with an ice-cold logic. Beware slackers and sliders. Your days are numbered. Love, John