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'Christ sakes, David, what did you do that for?' Jack asked, indicating the fragments of glass.

David ignored this. 'Got us something to eat, Jack. Make a nice change from beans.'

‘Don't be disgusting.'

‘Hey, what's so disgusting about eating frogs? The French do it all the time.'

Jack picked up the rucksack and held it out for David. No they don't, they just eat the legs. Even they aren't sicko enough to eat the whole frog. Only a Pennsylvanian would do that.'

David held the frog up to the light and examined it more closely. 'Maybe it's not a frog, Maybe it’s a toad.'

'What difference does It make? Jack Sighed.

'I wonder how you tell? Do frogs have warts and toads not?'

'How the heck should I know, David?'

‘You're the biology student. Come on, what s the difference between a frog and a toad?'

'Is this a joke?'

'Hey no, I'm serious. What's the difference? Maybe its like toadstools and mushrooms - maybe toads are poisonous.’ To Jack’s horror, David suddenly brought the frog up to his mouth and started chewing.

'Hmmm ... nope, no ill effects ... must be frog.'

'David!'

'You're such a dork, Jack.' He opened his hand and let the frog hop off into the grass. He took his pack and slung it on to his back, then he started walking.

Jack had to take a few quick steps to catch up with him. ‘That was gross. You're one sick guy, you know that?'

David continued looking forward and merely replied, 'Ribbit!'

'Shut up, David!'

'Ribbit!'

'Shut up, David!'

'Ribbit!'

About a mile and a half outside the tiny crossroads which had appeared to make up the entirety of Llanfer Ceiriog, the road dipped down between the two hillsides and turned a right angle so that it ran along the valley bottom. Trees crowded into the level ground and overhung the badly cracked and pocked tarmac through which poked the occasional tuft of lush grass. Even beyond the high precipitation so normal in the British Isles, the air was damp and muggy and Jack felt perspiration begin to bead his brow as he and David meandered down the descending road. He peered into the dimness under the thick, leafy roof in the hope of seeing some of the native wildlife. Nothing moved, but in the distance he could hear a whippoorwill shouting its characteristic call out to the world. He corrected himself in his thoughts - it wasn't a whippoorwill here. In England, rather Wales, it should be called a night jar.

He stumbled as his foot twisted in a fissure in the road. It was definitely getting more and more dilapidated.

'Hey, Kermit, are you sure this is the right road?'

David shrugged. 'You looked at the map, you tell me.' Jack recognized the stages leading up to another miscarriage of justice. Stage one was David making a decision. Stage two was Jack discovering that David's decision was wrong. Stage three was David maintaining that it had been Jack's decision.

Stage four was Jack getting angry whilst David remained perfectly calm. Inevitably the blame for them coming along this road would ultimately lie with him. He decided to avoid David’s suggestion of guilt completely.

'Well, I don't think it is,' he said. 'I mean, British roads may be bad, but a major road shouldn't have potholes like this There was no doubt at all that the holes in the road were huge - he almost expected a bearded university lecturer in a hard hat and luminous yellow waterproofs to appear from one and start to enthuse about the marvellous rock formations in the subterranean world. 'Maybe we should go back?'

he suggested, stopping walking.

'Aw, come on Jack, it must lead somewhere. Let's give it a couple more miles.'

Jack threw a daggered look at David's back but followed, mumbling angrily to himself. Indeed, after only a further half mile of the 'couple more miles' the road was abruptly cut off by a tall metal mesh gate from which various notices in Welsh and English hung tattily, drawn as they were on the sides of soggy supermarket boxes. The words were written in an erratic, spidery hand.

‘Keep out!’ one announced tersely in black ink. The message was continued n a second card