The abandoned Wellington boots, the shame making hireling press ...

I have to confess that once I had an intense, though fleeting, fascination with the hireling press - every morning, before seven, I would scan the red top headlines when I called in at the 24 hour Texaco -

Jackie would be finishing her night shift -
I would park the wounded Peugeot next to a white van - men wearing baseball caps would exhale cigarette smoke -

Inside the Texaco, Jackie's curt greeting soothed my jangled nerves - she was the high priestess, cynical and wise, of this roadside temple -

But I'd also be sneaking a look at the pages of the sizzling tabloids - I took my shameful pleasure in the lurid masque of love rats, benefit cheats, lotto millionaires and soap star tragedies -

The reporting of murders followed a hallowed formula - the photograph of a beautiful victim prefaced a voyeuristic description of the atrocity - there might even be an interview with heart broken parents - it was all so shame making and vile -

So when I saw these pairs of Wellington boots, left abandoned in a woodland car park, I saw in my mind a tabloid pic -

There - there was the site of the abduction - there was the start of the melancholy horrors - I felt, once again, that hateful thrill -