A maze has grown up overnight; it's high and we can't see in. In we go! Peter, Jane, Mother, Father and Pat the dog are having a nice picnic in there. On the tartan blanket by the hamper, I share a jam sandwich, crusts cut off. Grasping a passer-by, Peter voices his love of wrestling with this new friend. Father gives Peter a firm spanking. Jane smiles on. Moving on, I encounter a man lost and losing it, bewilderingly brushing his teeth. In a cosy corner, a knitting Ariadne offers spectators a ball of wool to help them find their way back home. Around the hedge corner a gypsy lady peers unnervingly into my eyes, thrusting a ligustrum sprig at me. Topiary teapots turn and point their spouts at me. Ah, the gardener and his potting shed! In there with him, amongst his onions and pots, and under the scrutiny of his peering silence, I feel anxious! Allowed out, I briskly move on. I stagger the final pathway past a seething hedge. Just bushes between me and the roaring Minotaur! The ground strewn with bones and... flying poo? At the end... no, I won't tell, but it's worthy of the Wizard of Oz. I loved it! I lingered, loitered and nervously laughed at each and every privet-y confrontation.