XRunner there is a farmer in Bowlee near Middleton where i live, who always leans heavily on his gate when i run past on Sunday mornings.
He wears a greasy cap, an open necked shirt and old trousers. By his side, to my alarm, there is always a long handled axe, propped up against the gate. The look on his face says 'That's to keep the likes of you runners away.'
Sometimes he has a sort of Jack Nicholson in The Shining type of grin on his face.
I know the farm is nowhere near as remote as the snowbound hotel in the film The Shining, but i reckon it's still the sort of place where, under stress, you could become unbalanced. It's set off a track, which is off a lane. The lane itself runs for a mile before you reach a proper road.
I look at his axe every Sunday morning and think to myself am i about to meet my nemesis.
My burial wouldn't present much of a problem. I reckon he's got a secret trench, probably where he's buried his previous victims (What happened to Salfords National winning team of three years ago?)
He could easily open up the trench with the digger attachment of his tractor and he'd have bags of lime for dissolving my body....and grass sods easily avilable for camoflage. I'd be nicely rotted down with the rest of them, come easter.