The Tale Of Furtive Phil

I'd gone for a bike ride around some back-lanes before visiting J's dad in the afternoon and rode up a track I'd not noticed before. Then stumbled upon some very ramshackle, apparently deserted sheds, air raid shelters and other assorted bunkers.

The sign said "Private Land. Please Keep Do Not Enter". I do like it when people are polite.

There I was minding my own business, when I heard someone call - "Can I help you?" - from within one of the bunkers. I looked round a corner and someone was hurriedly putting on their boots, and then he emerged.

We introduced ourselves, and Phil duly informed me that he "looked after" the land for some friends who grew "vegetables" and were worried about intruders. I said OK, I'll leave but can I takes some pictures before I go?

"Er, mmm, well, I'm not sure, it is private property...". I asked him if he lived there, and he said, "No, no, I'm just, er, having a cup of coffee..."

Cheddars and I were chatting last night and we agreed that the "vegetable" crop probably consisted of "hothouse flowers", if you get our meaning... He was certainly [extra] keen not to have his picture taken.