I've been researching the legend of the local pie-shaped UFO, via the Kington bopper brigade - old retired teachers and kernels who are now highly respectacled members of the local council chamber of things.
One such rebel has furnished me with drink and whispered half-told stories about 'Rubber Dave' the marathon man who rode a horse through town once. Apparently he was not averse to 'cooking up the pies' and sending them on their way to the stars.
The rebel took me to a quiet back street, behind the shops in Kington, and by squeezing into a very narrow crack in the wall, and bending my leg up the back so I could push my frame into the gap, I was able to observe the ceremony of behave
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