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He hitched a lift up the A30 in the cab of a friendly but garrulous truck driver who insisted on recanting a forgettable life story which made the journey up to the Penleven turning feel far longer than it perhaps was. His anger replaced by regret, Slim leaned against the window, nodding or responding when necessary, until the truck pulled off at a roundabout and the driver bid him a safe journey home.
Determined to avoid such situations again, Slim tossed the bottle and its remaining contents into the hedge just outside the village, at the end of an hour-long downhill march, but, hitting his bed at pence after two, he marveled at a world that had got him home from the butt end of nowhere at a reasonable time, with at least part of his sanity intact.
His luck was looking up.
Mrs. Gr
