Stephen Irvine, 19 April 2012
After the morning’s sun had teased me from my chamber this week, the afternoon skies suddenly blackened like a bruise on the fragile skin of the atmosphere, the violence visited there inflicted by the fist of God almighty himself, his omnipotence terrifyingly displayed in the suddenness of the darkening. With hail now drumming on my cranium I had to abandon the countryside walk I had planned for the day and find sanctuary, my Primark trainers offering little resistance to the elements as I slopped through muddy lanes.
As I bustled into the pitch-black of a barn and eventually managed to strike a sodden match, I was shocked to see two fierce fellows glaring my way with unpleasant intent. Despite inspecting my iPhone with quizzical looks, they stole it anyway before explaining that there was a tidy living to be made from lost city-dwellers in weather-induced barn sheltering clichés, and that I should get on the first train back to the big smoke if I knew what was good for me.