Amelia Rudge was going deaf, though not about to admit it. Which was how she came to be striding through the woods at the head of a posse of maiden ladies who were intent on stopping the misuse of the canal car park by nighttime dog walkers.
Arriving at their destination, there wasn’t a dog to be seen, just an old minivan with the windscreen rather steamed up and half a dozen middle-aged men with suspiciously hidden hands.
Understanding struck, and the ladies retreated in horrified disarray.
Amelia now understands the difference between dog walking and the other thing…

Jane Jago

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