I walked the length of the main street of the pretty Northumbrian village. Where the stone cottages gave way to fields full of livestock, an animal leapt over the wooden fence and bounded towards me.

I struggled to identify the creature. The size of a donkey, it had the playfulness of a dog. I stroked and petted it, then we played fetch for a while. When I turned to retrace my steps and find my friends in the village café, I hoped that the donkey-dog would return to his field.

However, on realising that I was leaving him, the donkey-dog transformed into the Big Bad Wolf. I ran away as fast as I could, seeking refuge in the café. The donkey-dog pushed past the tables, chairs, and counter all the way to the toilet cubicle where I attempted to hide. It stood on its hind legs, popped its huge clawed paws over the top of the door, and glowered at me.

Where was the café proprietor? What about my friends? Why did nobody answer my screams for help?