A flimsy bit of plastic ribbon fluttered in the breeze, unrestrained. The barriers erected around the hole overnight had been moved in preparation for work. The workmen were preparing for work by having a brew and brief discussion on the Turner exhibit. Peregrine, hurrying along as usual, suddenly found himself descending, like Alice in Wonderland, into a rather deep dark pit. It was not very deep but above his head height by a couple of feet. It was not very wide either, about person-sized, as though it had been dug specifically for perpendicular burial. Perhaps it had he thought. Could it be that people were being buried under the roads and pavements to save space? He felt a warm oozy feeling on his head and a tingling, stinging sensation above his eye. He put up his hand to his touch the place and felt the sticky trickle of blood. He hated blood. He had been in the hole several minutes, stunned by this sudden departure from the norm, before he thought about the getting-out-again procedure. He looked up expecting to see concerned faces preparing to rescue him but all he saw was a patch of blue sky.