Locked in Yorkshire Sculpture Park

Boy walked over the ha-ha hump bridge which laughed quiet at the start, loud in the middle then quiet again at the end, like this: hahahahahahaha.

It was a day of incorrigible gales and boy was terribly put out because his writerly hair was being thrown wildly out of shape. He looked unpretty.

He would never attract girls in these conditions. So he surrendered to the absurdity of the ha-ha hump bridge and laughed its laugh. hahahahahahaha.

He heard his laugh thrown to and fro in the wild wind as the day began to blacken. Soon the park gates would be closed and he would be stuck.

Books, thought boy, are a flatus. And not a divine one either. SB had proved this beyond doubt aged two score and six and with his hideous precocity had unshaped those shapes of the book’s void-shaping.

He was frightening and compelling even at such a green age, that c-c-c-c-cunt. He thrust boy into the darkness and said: ‘There – have that.’ Boy baulked. He whimpered for the lights to be turned back on. But he kept reading. He kept reading to the end, for the sake of the end. It was making him sick.

"To hell with this, I have to get out of here,’ he heard himself saying, though he didn’t move.

‘Calm down. Things will sort themselves out if you’re patient. Just wait it out,’ said the kung-fu hare on top of the anvil.

These words helped him to breathe in the strangling darkness of the park, the gates of which were about to be locked.

Love had broken. That was the problem, he thought. (He was wrong though). Yes, love had broken, he thought, and he was too small-balled to do anything about it - even write about it. Words dissipated in his frantic mind as readily as did now the shapes of the skeletal trees in the park, which was now very locked as well as deathly dark.

‘This will not do,’ he thought. He faked some composure, which his unwriterly hair did much to betray.

hahahahahahaha. ‘Shutthefuckup,’ he said.

‘Calm down,’ said the kung-fu hare.

‘Oh yeah, sure, I’ll do that. Yeah, thanks,’ replied boy.

hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha.

Yes, things were going well given the circumstances.

Suddenly the kung-fu hare was nose to nose with boy and with a mouth that smelled of fried kidneys went and said: ‘Boy, you think it's all so difficult don't you? But it isn't. All you need, boy, all anybody needs, is a good, long, soothing crap.’ Then he legged it.

‘Thank you. Thanks for that,’ boy shouted as the hare disappeared in a blur of whirring feet into the dark.

Alone again, boy rolled a cigarette and walked on. The moon waxed bright and broad behind the trees. He walked on, in the dark, into the bolted night, on the look-out for Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Maybe they knew how to get out of here...