Nestling between the trees on the outskirts of the town, a long green lawn, a vast green and gold expanse full of wild flowers, a place of unremitting peace to pass away the days. The lawn has always been where it always is, doing what it does, lawning from dawning to dusk, buzzing with bees and wasps in the summer, snoozing with trees and people a-ssh at night.

The lawn is one of the best loved sights in Mizzenwood, visible from flights thousands of feet above, which some say is the best way to experience the town. Thousands of feet below, thousands of feet allow thousands of bodies to move through the grass, thousands of heads above to feel love for all of nature's creatures, thousands of wasps asleep for the day. Other feet are rooted to the spot, like the roots of the trees, with knees that never move, carefully positioned to create a certain sound when the breeze blows; faint noises through long grass, carefully positioned plants, recently implanted trees, and the motionless people in the grass; a rich texture of sound carried over the land for miles around, fine-tuned with cosmetically enchanted alterations.

An ingenious feat of feet, the fleet of foot carried along by the sound, and those lacking in flight letting the grass grow, the fate of those feet rooted to the spot still uncertain in the eyes rooted to eye sockets a few foot North of the feet below, or to the West for those who've chosen sleep or have had sleep thrust upon them, thrown at their heads by kids or flowing through their veins, courtesy of the kids and their adventure in the off-licence. There are always things for kids to do in Mizzenwood.

Rich, lush, vast, last night in the pub a cloud, tonight in the off-licence, today on the lawn, rich, lush, vast lands to soothe your sore head. Fields of green, I see, red roses too, and I think to myself, something about the broken glass, or nothing about the B glass because there is no broken glass and even if the berken G beneath your feet were something something, what a wonderful town, and I think to myself, something something.

Walk or run as people run in films, screaming and shouting through the long grass, minus the screaming and shouting, minus the long in the grass if it's been cut in the meantime. Cut out the screaming and S-ing and F-ing and blinding and you've got a moment on this vast lawn. Run for the sake of running or for leisure. Sit or lie more for leisure. Run to get into lying down for leisure minus the tripping.

Red roses too, I see, the sights and the scents where the flowerbeds are, minus the highness of grass, plus the hoe-ness of winter gardening in June. Seasonal, effective, slightly disordered since his accident. Slightly ineffective in the wrong season. Stoatally ineffay when it comes to killing stoats. Totally ineffec in convincing us that killing stoats is unnecess because stoats are just pets waiting for people to pat their heads.

Feel free to sit in the grass, where all its inhabitants are friendly and nothing will endly in 999 calls, the sound of sirens, the noise and the rushing to H, the extraction of poison, the sound of a songbird a distant memory fading away. No. Only the human and ant inhabitants are capable of biting. The humans choose the use of their brains to curtail their freedom to bite. Their free will and choice, they look at their shoes, they breathe in the air and the curtain of curtailment descends, not a drug-induced curtain. A natural rather than pharmaceutical descent which sums up the whole town, despite claims of a drug-induced descent hiding behind a curtain of tourist board propaganda, but we don't even know what that word means, 'curtain'.

No human inhab has recent rehabil escape from a home with a thing in his hand. That's just a rumour, and it wouldn't even have been mentioned if this propaganda curtain existed. And as for the ants, even the ants are friendly. If you look very, very closely you'll see them waving at you (advice not meant to be taken seriously - if you see ants waving at you you're at the wrong side of the curtain - a different curtain to the propaganda curtain because that doesn't exist, but closely related to the pharmaceutical curtain, which doesn't exist either).

Stray off the beaten track or follow the path; walk in line alive in love with all of nature's nearest and dearest little creatures. Or stray still alive into the beating track, meeting beaten people off the meeting way, feet a-flee towards the guide and the beaten tracks, the safe expanse of fields and wild flowers, a daisy on the breeze, head saying no or nodding yes or nothing nothing in the still.

A blade of grass, a daisy with face towards the sun, a dandelion, a buttercup, and more blades of grass. Walk amongst the finest of nature's soft furnishings, far away from the nearest of nature's hard brandishings, sharp pointy things, shard shiny glass, dark gloomy grass. Appreciate our roses, roseate to the eye, 'lovely to meet you' to the nose, 'please don't take me away' to Mr. Crowsy who ate a whole flowerbed. Wag your finger at Mr. C. Tell him he's very naughty and watch him hang his head in shot. Shake your head at Mr. Murphy with the shotgun in his hand, all part of nature's cycle.

An answer is always near for every question that may arise. Ask your guide. He'll A any Q if you talk slowly enough. Or just appreciate the peace; listen to the sound, the scraping clink of rusting metal snapping shut. A slight plethora of sweet peas, unavoidable Q's, disbelieving eyes, long drawn-out A's to explan-oh the way, where and what happened to my foot, song drawn-out singing to prevent any admission of liability. Listen to the sweet song with the accompaniment of the breeze...

Your guide will guide you to your ___, and how you fill in the blank is entirely up to ___. Feel free to fill in that blank with 'you' meaning you, but if you choose 'you' meaning us you'll have the added extra of avoiding the dog on the bus whose madded head of hair makes him the ___ travelling companion. Fool free to 'ideal' that blank. Feel fool to idea that we're pressurising you into only going to the places we want you to go to, and not the places you don't want you to go to.