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Friday 18 May 2012

The Three Strangers: Rush Hour in Blackborough

Normally he liked hedge-flanked Devon lanes in which one could trace the year’s progression: snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells, red campion... 

Ahead, though, was a tanker delivering heating oil, the driver refusing eye contact; behind him a range-rover, occupied by a woman shrugging her don’t-expect-me-to-reverse gesture.

Late yet again: bugger bucolic bliss.

© Tim Scott
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