Amatuer Sleuthing.

Norman and I commandeered Samuel’s Volvo in our quest to find Challoner. We didn’t get to see everything though. There are stone circles as far south as Matlock and as far west as Buxton, so we ran out of daylight, or rather Challoner will have done. After the first stop we realised that all we needed to see was his blue camper van to know if we were in the right place or not. We didn’t have to walk up to every circle. Norman, despite the seriousness of the – well I’m going to stop calling it our quest, but what should I call it, a mission? Despite the seriousness of the search, Norman was so liberated by being out of the house, driving down hedgerow lanes, or through old stone villages, that he seemed happy to have missed turnings, didn’t bother overtaking pootlers or even bikes, and insisted that we hike up across the boggy sheep-lands to check Challoner hadn’t come in a taxi or god knows what else he was thinking might happen. He kept the window rolled down all day, to take in the clean air. I don’t care if it’s sunny – January is still January, and January is winter.

At the Barbrook stone circle I found a small pile of pistachio shells a few metres from the stones themselves. I guess that means Challoner’s been there, but I don’t know when. The shells looked pretty manky so, again I’m guessing, they’ve been there a few days. It’s not exactly hard science. And a small pile of empty shells isn’t exactly a middle-aged magical theorist with a file I’d trade my toes for. It’s been a frustrating day.