Under the patio

Day 2 in Willesden and I've already found my first dead thing. Mog's got an allotment, and we've got our doubts about the previous owner.

Day 1 was spent in a haze of dust, cardboard and pulled muscles. Having driven my stuff through the rat race of North London *three* times, the least I could do was get Smooth B drunk. So I did. When Mog's drunk, she talks in an Irish accent- and I was surprised to find myself doing the same thing. Mog suggested we hit a cafe in the morning before doing some gardening, and having unpacked by 9am on Sunday, I felt like getting some air. So we headed down Willesden High Road with a big spade.

Inevitably I was going to do the joke. Walking through the park I turned to Mog.

"Do you think we went deep enough"

"I think so. Sniffer dogs will never find her."

This was a joke that was to horribly backfire an hour later. Mog had handed me the spade and pointed to some seriously undisturbed ground. After much singing and quoting Seamus Heaney, I'd got the Shallow Grave references out of my head. Until the spade sank into the ground with an unearthly squelch.

"Mog", I shouted, uncovering the corner of a black plastic sack, "can you come and look at this?"

I dug around it. I worked out pretty soon it was too small and squishy to be a body. At least not a whole one anyway. It was probably about the size of a large rabbit or a small cat. Or a head. I tried to lift it and it smelt terrible. After I'd convinced myself it was really nothing to worry about, I dug a hole and put it down. We're planning on growing potatoes over there.

The allotment is littered with cans of strongbow, a piece of carpet and some knickers. We're wondering if it belonged to a truck driver.