The television mast was still there, guarding the entrance to the woods. He walked past the entrance and round the corner to the row of shops. None of them were as he remembered, but there was still a newsagent. He went in, expecting to be disappointed, but he wasn’t. This was the first indication that he had made the right decision to relax this morning instead of doing yet more preparation. The newsagent was one of a dying breed and still sold traditional boiled sweets, by weight, from vast glass jars lined up along two shelves behind the counter. A big smile arrived on his face as he surveyed the riches on offer. Heaven! He bought a quarter of pear drops and a quarter of lemon sherbets to see him through the morning; he suddenly felt this was going to be more than a ten-minute walk down memory lane.

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