Saturday, July 14, 2007

Friday 13th

Absolutely exhausted after a really tough week at work, I hit the sack before 9pm.

Happily dreaming of "K" when I'm woken to the sound of drunken shouting outside (nothing unusual there, I live on the corner bracketed by a club and a pub).

What was slightly unusual was the sounds of someone kicking in the door of the disused shop down below. Fortunately "K" has been on an extended biz trip lately and we've been amusing ourselves with sultry chats into the small hours, so my moby was next to bed.

999 and a nice reassuring voice tells me I'm priority No 1 (or words to that effect). Outside/inside there's the noise of tinkling glass and splintering wood and my heart is thumping like a bass in my chest. Outside there are a group of teenagers, well pissed and enjoying the show. Needless to say I can't actually see who's breaking in because he's in the room directly below.

Within less than a minute I see a policeman sprinting down the alley, and I can breath again and think about getting dressed to check out the damage.

It's true that the Police get younger, but these two are great - fit, calm, wide awake and well in control of the situation by the time I go down to see them and inspect the damage.

Over the past couple of decades I've lived in all sorts of shitholes including Rusholme in Manchester, Chatillon, a 'red suburb' of Paris, and Lowell ('Hole') Massachusetts. None has ever compared to this part of Ipswich.

Over the past five years I've had the pleasure of:

2 successful burglaries
3 attempted burglaries
5 broken windows
2 attempted entries
1 crashed car into the corner (attempted getaway)
1 torched car in the club car park opposite
2 attempted arsons in the waste ground around the back
4 Police interviews concerning the murder of Gemma Adams (the accused, Steve Wright, lived at the end of the road).

Next time I stroll to the corner-shop after dark I'm going to request air-support...

There. I feel much better now.


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