It's 1am. In a remote wood set amongst steeply sloping fields above the now infamous Todbrook reservoir in Whaley Bridge Derbyshire. Heavy drops of rain have started to fall. Each fleeting drop punctuates the night air. A pair of owls appear from nowhere, calling to each other. The last flights to Manchester airport make their way over the moor. A restless lamb bleats. Hidden in almost complete darkness the rain reveals to the ear the thick canopy of leaves above. There is no wind. the trees are still. A single pinprick light glows far away over the moor. It's the last streetlight that marks the outer boundary of the town that lies a mile down the valley. Time passes. The rain gradually gets heavier.