beedingwood | following the footsteps of john harris

We arrived in style. Two cars. One lay-by. A group of lethargic, surly chavs. Someone had to give, and it was the chavs. Whilst we waited the impending arrival of JonDoe, an act which would’ve caused the chavs to spill onto the road, Marlon and I studied a map of Cane Hill and spoke of corridors, tunnels and stairwells.

Meanwhile, Smorgy played a mental game of I-Spy with the chavs, beaming in delight. “One’s got a Burberry cap. Look, that one’s got too much bling. Sportwear and trainers. Marvellous!” A Peugeot eventually arrived and picked them up; characteristically we could hear the pounding drum-and-bass before the car even appeared above the horizon.

JonDoe eventually arrived and the lay-by was filled to overflowing, a conspicuous marker that people were obviously rummaging through the bushes. Not that anyone cared about Beedingwood.

Left: North aspect