Old camp.

While walking in old twisted woods, I found the remains of an old camp...

A small fire pit with anonymous tin cans, inch square plastic baggies (presumably containing contraband in their former, useful life), and bottles of cheap vodka were strewn around. Littering normally makes me feel a bit sick and reluctant to play with the rest of the world. But oddly... they seemed to fit here in this forgotten corner.

My peace was disturbed only by a mad old woman - twisted as the trees she was walking beneath - and her dog. Despite the faithful hound never straying more than 20ft from her side she persisted in blowing her dog whistle with great and relentless gusto. Perhaps she couldn't hear it? Perhaps she'd gone so mad she didn't even know she was doing it.

The mad old woman and her piercing whistle left so I sniffed the remains of the vodka and drained it. I didn't sniff the baggies - I thought their particular choice of poison should remain a forgotten secret... and toying with the old charred logs I thought what a blinding place for a camp.