Tonight I attended a drinks party at one of my parents' neighbours. It's strange being back in my old road again - nothing's really changed and the same old resentments seem to be there - well, if by that I mean that there was a lot of muttering about how much disruption the building of my parents' house caused, but of course, it was never said out loud, this being suburbia and all. The following gossip/conversation topics were raised:
* The vagrant who used to live in the local church is now on the run from the law (last sighting: Dover)
* The pair of shoes which were sitting outside a suspected drug dealer's property have now been disposed of by the dustcart
* Mr Windrush has finally forgiven me for demolishing his front garden wall, which occured during my first, and indeed only, driving lesson taken by Father
* The fire at the local comprehensive was started by disenchanted Year Eights after they lost the Borough Tiddlywinks Competition
* The local baker has now been released from prison after serving a sentence for dipping more than a wooden spoon in his dough
...and so on. I'm not a natural party goer or conversationalist, let me tell you.
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