Stig inhaled the unnatural station air with relief, glad to be out of the carriage. He had been late for the train and it was almost full when he had tottered along the platform, sweaty and exhausted. However as he was an exceptionally small midget, Stig had just been able to squeeze in, squashed up against the crotches of a noisy group of city types who had glanced at their fellow passenger distrustingly before rudely talking over him. The situation was uncomfortable enough, yet throughout the entire journey, Stig had been awkwardly conscious of his attire: He was sporting a rather lurid anorak and chunky green corduroys, both items purchased from Mothercare many moons ago (he was way too small for grown-up clothes). However underneath it all he packed a genuine baby's nappy. This was all back in the summer of 1981, and the first time Stig had worn nappies since infancy. He couldn't remember exactly what type of nappy he had been bunged in when a tot, although he doubted it was anything like the ultra-thick disposable he was wearing now: plastic-backed and horribly absorbent, it fitted him like a glove, gripping his buttocks with vice-like tenacity.