Two comments from an hour-and-a-half's mapping this balmy May evening:

"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" - angelic little cherub.
"Hello?" - me.
"He" (pointing to second angelic little cherub) "says my ass is really fat. Is it?"
"Errrrrrr"

(On railway phone) "Oh, hi, yeah, this is the duty crossing keeper at Clay Mills. Hi. We've had a suicidal male reported. No, I've not seen him anywhere. I've got two police trapped the other side of the crossing. No, no sign of him. It was his family phoned up, said he might be heading this way. Ok, well I reckon we just lift the restriction."

Ah, Burton. There's nowhere like it. Apart from perhaps a big steaming pile of shit next to a river somewhere.