Fence-sitter

I hate sharp fences. They’re there to make sure property is protected, but their defence often turns into attack when people tangle with them. My school friend nearly impaled himself on the cast iron railings of my infant school. His name was Zennon Zorrock, although I may have misspelled that. He looked like Mr Spock and I thought he was Ukrainian. He decided to climb the school railings and throw himself over them. It’s just that he slipped a little and didn’t quite throw himself enough. The sharp points of the railings made large gouges down his back, ripping the skin into wood-shavings rather than scurf. It’s the look on my mum’s face that I remember most, and the image in my mind of what he would look like impaled up there. He’d look a lot like all those gory pictures and sculptures of tortured Jesus my school was obsessed with showing me, and telling me all about, age 5.

Here’s my local industrial estate. It’s full of razor wire, security fences, motion-activated lights and large padlocks. It’s also full of wildlife.