The drawbacks of solitude.

I programmed some soulful tunes on the iPod and went for a peaceful walk along leafy, shaded country lanes this evening.

It would have been idyllic were it not for the hundreds of hours I've logged watching the Crime Channel.

Roughly every 10 metres I was compelled to perform a 360-degree surveillance maneuver in case the warbling of Kate Bush was disguising the stealthy approach of a depraved rural serial killer.

Sure, the surrounding hedgerows were draped prettily in summer blossoms and brambles. But wasn't this exactly the kind of secluded woodland I'd seen in aerial police footage as they stretchered away the bleached remains stumbled upon by some unlucky dog-walker?

I could picture the interview with the passing cyclist who'd been the last person to see me alive. It was at this point that I decided to turn around and head back for safety, averting my untimely demise. Or, possibly, just averting a very pleasant country walk.

Lane of certain death?