Once Upon a Time in The East Midlands

Christ almighty! What was that?

“Sorry, sorry love”. The words struggled out into the night air in thick, Yorkshire tones. Without noticing the thought, she had the briefest image of her walking boots in November; gathering and storing a little more of the muddy field with every consecutive step. It would get so she could hardly lift her foot with the accumulated weight.  The young man’s voice was like that; it had too much mud on it.

That youth can be conveyed in a voice, she knew and did not question.  The young were absolutely known to her. She had reached adulthood and far beyond without forgetting, even for a moment, the pain of youth. She’d made it her profession.

Laura knew that he was colossal from the indentation he’d put in the tent. He’d fallen into it, stretching the white nylon in towards her and moulding it into a foetal shape of mythical proportions. The tent had welcomed him in like a long lost relative but it was only playing. Once it caught him and had him safely cradled, giving way to his shape like a hammock, the tent had recoiled and spat him back out with the ferocity of a catapult;  her own no-nonsense nylon bouncer. Their tents were tightly packed together and they’d had to be creative to get all 4 of theirs’ together- tiny porches (vestibules they liked to think) facing inwards and fitting together like some giant puzzle. Laura heard her young caller quietly curse, as unyielding guide ropes burned against his skin, then a ‘doof’ as they accepted him into their web.

Post Script
No 2 of my 'Versatile Blogger' recommendations goes to lovely Meg Slater for Project 365. She takes great and diverse photos and counts down each day in her year . She is always quirky and interesting. I find the format a bit difficult to use but there's no doubting that the girl has style!