Simon had been stranded in the moors for eighteen hours when he spotted the tent. It stood like a house-shaped bon bon amid the dead trees and bracken - a fluorescent pink poof at its peak knocking in the breeze.
'Oh thank God' - said Simon.
Not 48 hours prior Simon's blonde locks had shimmered in the sunlight as though he were the poster child for a shampoo commercial. His blue jeans had been creased and his sneakers all but blindingly white. He had embarked on an afternoon stroll in the fields at the back of his office - hoped to get a breath of fresh air before getting stuck into another set of spreadsheets.
Now though matted hair plastered his cheeks and recalled the colour of algae. His jeans were ripped at the knees and plastered in mud from the ankle down. His sneakers he'd had to abandon to avoid being sucked into a bog some miles back.
It had not been a pleasant afternoon stroll for Simon.
He fell to his knees and clasped both hands above his crown.
'Thank God' - he rasped. 'T