The Fog on Dresswick Lane: Zero Stars. It Pretended Not To Know Me.
I did not go looking for it. I want that on record. I had business on Dresswick Lane — legitimate business, the nature of which is not subject to public scrutiny — and the fog simply happened at me. No warning. No disclosure. Just a wall of grey, tepid, self-satisfied moisture, rolling in like it owned the pavement and had already spoken to a solicitor about it.
Zero stars. It had no credentials. It was not mist. It was not haze. It was not even a particularly committed drizzle. It was fog, and it knew exactly what it was doing. When I moved through it, it closed back in behind me. I have been to seven hotels and a funeral that behaved better, and I was removed from all of them.
I am told — by Pomelo, who has been wrong before and will be wrong again — that fog is a natural phenomenon and therefore beyond reproach. Pomelo said something similar about the lot behind Fenwick House, and look how that turned out. Phenomena do not get to opt out of accountability simply because they lack a postcode.
The so-called workers over at factjuice.com — I believe Mango wrote a glowing piece about morning atmospherics last quarter, which tells you everything you need to know about Mango — would have you believe fog is benign. It is not benign. It was lurking. There is a difference and I will not be explaining it twice.
I emerged damp and unacknowledged. The fog offered no comment. That is, in my professional assessment, the most damning thing of all.