Holes

They stood looking down at the hole. Anathema had called the police, who had put it down to subsidence and put some cones around it; it was dark, and went down a long way.

"Could be good fun, going to Tibet," said Brian. "We could learn marital arts and stuff. I saw this old film where there's this valley in Tibet and everyone there lives for hundreds of years. It's called Shangri-La."

"My aunt's bungalow's called Shangri-La," said Wensleydale.

Adam snorted.

"Not very clever, naming a valley after some ole bungalow," he said. "Might as well call it Dunroamin', or, or The Laurels."

"'S lot better than Shambles, anyway," said Wensleydale mildly.

"Shambala," corrected Adam.

"I expect it's the same place. Prob'ly got both names," said Pepper, with unusual diplomacy. "Like our house. We changed the name from The Lodge to Norton View when we moved in, but we still get letters addressed to Theo C. Cupier, The Lodge. Perhaps they've named it Shambala now but people still call it The Laurels."

Adam flicked a pebble into the hole. He was becoming bored with Tibetans.

"What shall we do now?" said Pepper. "They're dipping sheep over at Norton Bottom Farm. We could go and help."

Adam threw a larger stone into the hole, and waited for the thump. It didn't come.

"Dunno," he said distantly. "I reckon we should do something about whales and forests and suchlike."

"Like what?" said Brian, who enjoyed the diversions available at a good sheep-dipping. He began to empty his pockets of crisp packets and drop them, one by one, into the hole.

***

Good Omens - Saturday