Hazel, Hazel, Hazel – The motorway across the Pennines, raining with occasional shotgun blasts of thunder and lightning as I drove over the Moors – More missing children, more lost children – More children, taken and murdered; More voices – Terrifying, hysterical, and screeching voices of doom, disaster and death. I drove. I drifted – Underground kingdoms, evil kingdoms of badgers and pigs, worms and insect cities; screaming swans upon black lakes while dragons soared overhead in painted skies of fading stars and then swept down through lamp-lit caverns wherein a blind owl searched for the
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