No.183

It was when the mist lowered that you realized you were lost. Cut off from the rest of the group, you sought salvation in the hollow of an old, wind-battered Elm that clung to the alien landscape well above the tree-line. Your phone was out of battery, you’d traded your whistle for a Star Bar (which you quickly snaffled) and you could barely muster a whisper in the thin mountain air. So this was how it was going to end? You were uncomfortably slipping into sleep when WHAT’S THIS? A loud yodel echoed across the valley, a length of climbing rope was thrown into your unlikely shelter and a reassuring face came into vision. “Cliff Edgeley’s the name, now let’s get you out of this mess shall we old boy?” he said, in a soft, almost familiar tone. “Grab onto this toggle, post haste.” You did as he said, and before you had a chance to feel slightly awkward you were floating back down to the base of the mountain with the grace of a flying squirrel. You landed with barely a noise, stood up and turned to thank your saviour. He’d vanished. Weeks later you were withdrawing some Francs from the ATM when a small piece of off-white card fell to the floor. You turned it over slowly in your hand to see a small block of text. Cliff Edgelely – Life Saver. Happy to be of service, it read in italic Comic Sans.