Hedge-porn

John has just reminded me that you no longer find piles of discarded pornographic magazines in hedgerows these days. The internet has all but done for the top shelf magazines, in the same way it has put a stop to 'boys playing in the street'.

I once stopped off in a woodland lay-by for a pee, and as I entered the fringe of the wood, I saw a tantalising glimpse of coloured rectangles behind a log. My luck - I thought - was in.

The rain and insects had almost obliterated the covers, but you could just make out parts of bare flesh covered in fish-net stockings.

I picked one up and it was heavy with (I hope) rain water. The pages had stuck together, but not in the patchy way that indoor magazines are said to adhere to each other. Every leaf was bonded to its neighbour across the full area, and it was difficult to even part two blocks of pages without tearing the wet paper. Eventually I managed to part the centrefold which had been kept slightly apart at the spine by the staples.

I found a full-colour picture of a scantily clad, suspender-wearing, luxuriously bewigged... man.