Black Camp

“Crunching over the broken glass at the end of the lay by. There, at the side, the faintest indication of a gap, and, moving further in, ignoring the now dried and faded fag packets, the dinosaur bones of plastic from unimportant places in cars, the discarded wheel hubs and drinks bottles, pushing past the snagging brambles and stinging nettles, past the rim of used and stained tissues, and deeper, beyond the next tide line of beer cans and vodka bottles, and the darker limits of unidentifiable items of clothing: socks, knickers, a dog turd covered trainer, on into the reach of condoms and needles. But not stopping there, in further, darker and deeper, traces of cut wood, straps attached to saplings, strained and bent back, a roughly fashioned bench made from a plank on breeze blocks, a tyre perched on a milk crate, a broken chair, more rope, gun cartridges, plastic bags, sticks, logs, traces of fire – burnings and meltings, and you’re there, safe in the heart of darkness, the black camp, home to outsiders, drifters, anarchists, hunters, doggers, bait diggers, badger baiters, Nazis, nare do wells, bad boys, advancing new age armies, Raoul Moat, the Zwickau Three, hoboes, hippies, travellers, gyppos, weirdoes… “