Conkers

It was a crisp Sunday morning in Autumn as I walked across the Great Yorkshire Moors with the Devil.

“Can we stop for a rest soon?” whined the Devil, “My feet hurt and I want to sit down to eat the picnic.”

“You shouldn’t have worn those ridiculous shoes.” I snapped. “Let’s walk up to that Horse Chestnut tree, then we can sit down.” As we approached the tree the Devil ran excitedly ahead and sat down amongst the huge roots. “That’s better” he said, whilst removing his shoes. I sat down on the fallen leaves and took the packed lunch from my rucksack.
“What have you put in my sandwiches?” he asked. “You do know that if you have made me something I do not like you are going to be completely fucked forever.”
“Relax, I made you your favourite, Golden Eagle and marshmallow on Mighty White with the crusts cut off.” He didn’t say anything and snatched the sandwich, burning my hand in the process, he then took a huge bite. He closed his eyes and put his head back against the tree, swallowing hard. I took a bite from my chicken spread on brown, it was OK at best.

“It has nothing to do with me you know, all this carnage,” said the Devil with his eyes now firmly open, “It’s difficult when you get blamed for everything.”
“You know, it seems you people have taken the thickest shoelaces you can find, tied big knots in the end and threaded your hearts on the end like conkers. Walking around trying to find someone to have a contest with.”
"That’s fair enough" I replied, "but I brought sensible shoes this morning and you however, did not."