Foo’s yer doo’s

Aye pichin?

I’m pechin, out of breath

The Hunters are chasing me

We’re at Coylumbridge

I’ve drawn them into my back yard

I love a challenge

Joining Hunted TV gives me that

I’m the Hunter’s prey

They track me or trace my phone or my bank card

Their central control looks for me on CCTV

The Hunter’s game is – how to make me fail?

They’re intense and after my blood

They don’t want me to collect the prize

Ten thousand pounds – it’s worth the pain

I’m movin’ on

Aye pechin

I need to keep movin’ on

Why am I here?

I have the background, it’s in my DNA

The patience, the planning, good tradecraft

It was ideal for my surveillance work

My phone is off and wrapped in foil

There’s no CCTV in the mountains

Like Jack Reacher, I’ve a rugged determination

I make things happen in a good way

My pastimes help

Back wood knowledge, covert tradecraft

Hiking and camping in the hills

Like all surveillance people

I subdue my emotions, but

I love being on my own

I love being in my hills

One dark night           *                                   *Text in italics/bold is to the tune:

I slipped the iron chain                                            ‘Nellie the Elephant’

Off I run to the Grampians

To never be seen again

Off I go for a mountain tramp

Tramp, tramp, tramp

Here’s Cairngorm Bridge

People are coming from the loch

It’s not the Hunters though

They’re in black tops and trousers

Very intense looking folk

The only way to defeat the Hunters

is to think like them, but do it quicker

I need to get into the mountain pass

A scary place, below Ben Macdui

I’ve been waiting for this

I watch people to discover who folk are

What’s their profession, how do they act?

In Glasgow, I saw an attack in a close

I mentioned it, but no one believed me

They carried on in their ignorance

I learned that the truth’s not always trusted

Later, a colleague I counted on did not tell the truth

He told a lie to the boss to save himself

I was penalised

Taken together

I was at a loss

I was suffocating

Around me a protective cell formed

A cocoon

Within it, I observed, I analysed, I told the truth

I don’t trust all folk

I do trust the honest

I’m climbing up near Lutcher’s Crag

I peer right down to the treeline

Where are they?

They must have clocked my card at Aviemore?

I don’t see them yet, but they’ll come

I know their methods

I’m listening out for a drone

If it comes, I’ll go in the rocks

Will they find my cocoon before I fly from it?

I need to get up into the Lairig Ghru

High exposure all around

No Hunter radio comms, I like it

Let’s leave no trace

Let’s go among the deer

The head of the herd is calling*

Far far away

We may meet one night in the silver light

Off I go with a tramp, tramp

Tramp, tramp, tramp

On the road to Ben Macdui

I see the Hunters, running

Still a long way off

Will they follow the Dee?

Do they know of Glen Tilt?

Up the hill I go

I’ll hide up in the large boulders

It’s like being in an eyrie

I’ll watch them passing

They’ll worry more about falling off the boulders

The Hunters will be looking forward

down along the glen below

Which, way will they go?

I’ll take the other

Ssssh! It’s them



Good, they’ve run through

They’re jogging away to the Linn of Dee

So I’ll go south

Let’s get out of here


Now, I’ll take the big parade*

I’ll win the ten grand

Off I go with a tramp, tramp

Tramp, tramp, tramp

The cocoon now is open

I can fly

About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
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