Prompted by this comment
's in hp_britglish
. The Archers belong to the BBC, Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling and Will Grundy's forelock-tugging belongs in the nineteenth century.
Lynda Snell was deeply disgruntled to find her path blocked by William Grundy.
'Let me through! This is a public footpath, and Brian Aldridge has no right to deny me access.'
Will looked uncomfortable. 'I know that, Mrs Snell. It's just that this lot he's got in for the shoot, they're a bit - strange
- and they asked me and Mr Aldridge specifically to make sure no-one came near. They even bought their own beaters, said they didn't need ours. My dad was well narked to lose out on a day's pay. They're a dead funny lot - all dressed up in these long robes. I reckon it must be the Masons or something. I really can't let you through.'
Lynda sniffed artistically. 'What nonsense! If you won't let me through I shall have to complain to the council, and I'm quite sure Brian wouldn't want all that trouble just to stop me taking a short cut on my morning constitutional. I'll be off his land in five minutes, and no-one will be any the wiser.' She stalked past the still-protesting Will and carried on her way.
It was odd, though, that she hadn't heard any shots, although who knew what the Masons got up to? She could hear voices shouting nonsense words. Perhaps it was some kind of secret ceremony. And you did hear all sorts of rumours. Surely it was a public-spirited citizen's duty to investigate and expose any nefarious practices that might be going on?
She left the path and crept through the undergrowth towards the voices. What was that? Abracadabra
? How ridiculous!
She never even saw the bolt of green light that hit her.