A peculiarly Welsh affair took place these past few months on a sleepy street on the outskirts of Cardiff at the bottom of a hill covered in course grass and brown bracken where only the odd sheep and hare compete with morning dew.
In this Welsh affair was believed to be a man, a man acting out like he was part man and part something else. Women, especially young mothers, secured his attention. On one ordinary morning before the sun had lifted the damp mist off the hillside a sausage link was found on a washing line.
The next morning there were two sausage links, but on a different washing line.
Then next morning there were three sausage links and still another washing line.
The local police had spotted a pattern, and during shift changer over at the local station a policeman would collect the sausage links (for evidence) and fry them with some mushrooms and eggs (sunny side up).
Then after three months or so the supply of free sausage links without your leave just stopped like.
Then, a week or later the sausage supply came back online so to speak.
Turned out a plane flying out of Cardiff airport was dumping sausages from its freight hold. In what manner the sausage links escaped from the aircraft's hold is another mystery, but it was a small Cardiff lad, an avid plane spotter, who spotted the link between aircraft take-offs and the unnatural appearance of sausage links on that leafy Cardiff street.