The Village
I live in a small village that’s relatively close to Portsmouth, D- Day was planned here and it’s your typical small village where everyone knows everyone and there are lots of thatched houses. For a small village we have more than our fair share of weird things happen, some simply plain odd and others rather nasty.

Many years back one of my best friends step fathers tried to kill his mother (thankfully unsuccessfully) and then proceeded to climb on top of his roof and through roofing tiles at the police whilst threatening to jump. The village has a worryingly huge list of stories like this.

Our village police man got arrested for stealing woman’s underwear from a supermarket, a drunk idiot drove straight through a small cottage here killing the elderly chap whilst he slept in his bed, one of the people who ran the village shop was arrested for laundering money ... the list goes on and on.

One day whilst leaving for work I couldn’t help but noticed that an alarming amount of police were entering my neighbour’s house and leaving with various things. The village was awash with rumours as to what had happened, I can’t stand the gossipy side to village life but even I was surprised when it turned out that our neighbour had forced himself upon two young boys (I won’t go into details here) and whilst all this was going on his wife was working as a prostitute.

Obviously this made the papers and although in all fairness he did look like the type of person that would in fact be a paedophile I had no idea about his wife being a prostitute as she was fucking hideous.

It does go to show you though that you never really know who you have for neighbours.

By the way our new neighbours have a habit of fixing jet skis, cars and mopeds in the early hours whilst playing really loud jungle music ... the paedophile and rancid prostitute weren’t great but at least they were quiet!
(Sub-Lingual Hates You, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 22:48, Reply)