The heavy wood-slatted narrow bridge was at the side of Loughborough Canal going in the direction of Quorn. It was very new and unlike the single stone arch bridges that usually allowed one to cross from one side of the canal to the other.
This small narrow bridge was more like a pier, inches above muddy marshy ground. It had very flimsy thin metal poles to hold onto at each side. As I clung on, my eyesight wavered and I felt the wooden slats wobble and I felt that I could simply slip quietly underneath the metal poles and drift away happily to enjoy a swim.
‘Be careful’ Carol shouted from behind. ‘It doesn’t look that safe. It’s almost as if the Council didn’t have enough wood. It all looks bucolic but an accident could easily happen here.’
‘It’s fine Carol’ I said. ‘It won’t do me any harm. You see, I come from a family of bridge trolls back in the day. Bridges were our homes, mind you, I prefer the stone ones, they last longer and provided better shelter and income. We used to charge a toll for the crossing. This is a mere baby, practically born yesterday. It is still finding its feet, that’s why it’s a bit wobbly. It will soon settle down.’
I bent down and patted the slats in front of me. ‘Don’t worry, little cousin, I have got you. No need to wobble. I will visit and we can chat about the hikers, the canal boats, the dog walkers, the drug users, the homeless ones and the unsafe humans with fire to watch out for. No need to be afraid. Just think of me and I will come.’
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