Poor Jeremy. Michael had conned him into coming on the ride and now he found himself blundering along a riverside track near Totnes in the semi-darkness, surrounded by maniacs who thought it was "fun". He had been stung and scratched by the encroaching vegetation and at one point just missed a tree trunk that suddenly loomed up out of the wood, right in the middle of the path. As the last of his "friends" disappeared somewhere ahead of him he managed to blurt out "Jones - you'll be hearing from my solicitors .." before he encountered yet another step in the path.

By way of compensation we agreed to call in at the chip shop at Totnes - only to find it had just stopped serving. All we got was the smell. Michael had another idea, and led the group homewards past Dartington Youth Hostel. The warden there was pleased to sell us a few items of food at 10% discount, although some of the youngsters thought it looked a bit "dodgy".

We eventually arrived home a good deal later than usual, but everyone had assured Michael that it would be OK on this occasion. Meanwhile Jeremy set off for Harbourneford, nursing his wounds and cursing the darkness.