The Mystery Deepens

It had never occurred to me until this morning that I'd never actually seen Trenchfoote until now - not in the flesh (so to speak). I suppose if I'd known that our paths were going to cross and that I would see him, however fleetingly, then I imagine I would have built up some sort of expectation, but not as it happened. One moment I was strolling absent-mindedly up Regent Street, (doing my best not to be trampled under the hooves of the morning London stampede) and then there he was. To have covered the distance from Bury Saint Edmunds to London since he was last spotted, I can only assume that he must have hitched a lift, but then again, perhaps he just flew.
I suppose anyone else wouldn't have given him a second look - perching there on top of a red London post box, but that imperious eyebrow (which of course I gave him) is quite unique, and thoroughly unnerving when levelled right at you! The irony of that meeting though is that Trenchfoote didn't recognise me. Why should he? This does have the advantage that as yet he doesn't realise that his whereabouts are known - he is no longer skulking in East Anglia, and instead is skulking in London!

But where is he headed, and why?

He may feel that he has some scores to settle (though not with me I hope...), but it's equally likely that he is plotting something  - let's not forget that burglary is his preferred modus operandum.

Anyway, having frozen at the sight of the ruffian I could only stand and stare at him. He withstood this for a while but then tired of my scrutiny. He ruffled his feathers, uttered a fishy squawk and then leapt into the air. I watched him until he disappeared from sight over the rooftops to the west.

 

If only I knew how to find it, I'd go to Scarrot's Elbow, to the Tailors' shop - it's just possible he feels he has some unfinished business there...