He was finding the hot weather almost unbearable and some days she felt real concern on his behalf. They walked slowly, in deference to his age, along Jacks Lane and down towards Shepherd’s Hill. Pericles’ nose began twitching and so did Muriel’s. She was certain she could smell cooking, surely they weren’t already working in the kitchens at the back of the Store? Seven o’clock? Surely not. Pericles pulled on the lead, wanting a chance to investigate the smells. ‘Pericles, all you think of nowadays is your stomach. You’re getting very greedy.’ As she crossed Shepherd’s Hill, Muriel realised that something odd was afoot. She rounded the corner of the Methodist chapel, now boarded up prior to demolition, and gasped at what she saw. ‘Oh, dear. No! Oh dear. Come! Heel, Pericles.’ Dotted here and there, on the grass between the trees, were parked ramshackle caravans, old converted buses and an assortment of motorised vehicles. There were dogs and children playing, in front of some fires were burning, and the whole paraphernalia of permanent outdoor existence lay around.
