Pocket stakes.
Tomorrow (or rather, later today) I should, if all goes according to plan, meet Sergeant Shelsky in the unsuspecting town of Edinburgh. It does mean leaving the swamp, but it can't be helped.
On Wednesday he wants to photograph this place. Now, I'm not a big fan of exercise. I can watch weights all day but lifting them when they don't need to be moved seems silly. So does running when there's no pitchfork-waving mobs around. I will be photographing that handsome and desirable residence too, but I'm taking a long lens and tripod. I see no need to indulge in all that up-hill and down-dale stuff.
Since it's Edinburgh we meet in, and since it'll be an overnight stay, I will go prepared. I have a pack of pocket stakes in case of attack by the hordes of miniature vampires said to infest the area. You might not have heard about those. It's not in the tourist brochures. However, should you pick up a box of toothpicks and the shop assistant gives a knowing wink, buy them. Toothpicks to some, pocket stakes to those who know.
They could save your life. And you can even pick your teeth with them.
