This is Flirty Peter's Wood; and it is here where I trod in dogshit. Here, dappled in the honeyed summer sun I took a stick and tried to scrape the ordure from the elaborately incised grip of my walking boots. I sat down as I did so, and thereupon did proceed to sit in the foul droppings - a turn of events which necessitated me to remove my trousers and thong. Distracted, I absent-mindedly put the soiled stick in the breast pocket of my safari suit, and was, therefore, compelled to remove this item too. Here is Flirty Peter's Wood, where people run away from an imploring naked man with a good line in back hair. Here is an idyllic setting to see one's promising career in public life reduced to rubble
