I almost got blown from the cliffs this arvo. It’s windy bastards up there and as I strode with a mean gait towards the next rise and over, all I was really thinking about was jumping off cliffs; followed in turn, thankfully, about the need to use discretion in the choice of which cliffs from which to leap and which to leave at arm’s length until that wonderful and inevitable day when I will finally figure out how to fly. As I leant over one such of the latter kind of precipices I could not stop myself thinking about the whole spectacle of leaping to my doom. It would be so easy to trip, stumble and hang and then plummet followed by explosion and liquidification of flesh, draining away into the pebbles. Not considered in a suicidal frame of mind, just realistic. It is a possibility and I doubt I’d be able to reach that outcrop of bramble and, even if by some piece of beneficial fortune I did, would it really hold the 13 stone of muscled organism that I am, no, probably not, Jesus look how far down the waves are, Kerist, probably take about three seconds to get there, wonder if I’d feel much, probably shouldn’t lean too much further out just in case MOTHERFUCKAAA wind Bastard!! And all thoughts ceased as body took over and flung head to the ground, backwards and with a slight twist so my claws could dig at the coarse grass and anchor this momentarily excessively wobbly fuck-wit.

For a while the world was silent.

“I’ve got the number for the Samaritans if you want, dear.”

One of the two old girls walking their pooches past me came forward with what looked like an orange laminated card with writing on it. I lay motionless and, perhaps reasonably, was still considering jumping off cliffs. My camera lay two feet in front of my eyes being sniffed at by an old and decrepit Yorkshire terrier whose hind legs were visibly shaking. Either age or that pooch is about to drown my Olympus in syphilitic dog wizz. Time to arise methunk.

“Thank you. You are very kind to consider my state of brain.”

She pushed the card into my protesting hand, perhaps convinced that the tufts of grass between my knuckles must surely signify a desperate man.

“But I can assure you madam,” as I bent for the camera and righted myself, somewhat unevenly, “It was just the wind.”

“O, I know all about that. Vera there has wind something chronic. Never a quiet moment.” Vera nodded her head at me in what I took to be a reassuring manner.

“No, you don’t understand. A gust of wind almost blew me over, that was all. No need for concern, I’m fine. Really. Here’s your card back.”

She slid it back into the depths of her handbag as she turned towards her friend and dogs. “I don’t know about over but I do know about up. Once Vera had a moment whilst I was feeding the fire…”

“Gosh, is that the time…”

“..no eyebrows for a month.”

“Thanks. Bye then.”

True story.