Friday, May 16, 2003

The mean streets of Tunbridge Wells.

We've found a flat, smack in the centre of the Wells. The flat is very... cosy (ie small) but very light and welcoming, with new fittings, carpets, etc. The landlord, who is everso slightly obsessive, has left a screwdriver in the bathroom in case we ever get locked in. Don't ask. There's a branch of the Samaritans in the same street. I'm hoping that never comes in handy. Anyway, we won't be in danger in the Wells, because the town now has its very own superhero. This comes from the Daily Telegraph:

Loud music in the pubs, the drunks stealing one's hanging baskets, the dreadful parking problems and, oh, the graffiti! Yes, on the mean streets of Royal Tunbridge Wells, the residents were crying out for a superhero. On Easter Monday, their prayers were answered. The superhero appeared, in full costume: cape, mask, boots, mysterious symbol on rippling chest, tight belt.

They say that Ellen Neville was the first to spot him. There was trouble in the Pantiles area of town. The Pantiles? Think Batman, think the dark streets of Gotham City; then think, er, elegant 17th-century colonnades patronised by royalty, the healing waters of the famous Chalybeate Spring, and spa-town shops selling organic coffee and herbal teas. A Tunbridge Wells matron was "having bother" with a group of youths. Who could save her? Onto the well-lit shopping area, the rescuer "came from nowhere". "To my great surprise," recalls Miss Neville, "a masked man wearing a brown cape rushed to assist. He swept in, broke up the commotion and ran off leaving myself and the woman in a state of shock."

The reports came in from all over town last week. "A very kind gentleman wearing a brown cape and mask tapped me on the shoulder and told me I had dropped my purse," wrote Ruth Barker. Gladis Webb had a similar experience. "Your masked man helped me up the stairs with some very heavy shopping bags late last Wednesday," she wrote. "What a gentleman he was, and I do like his cape."

I think he should be called Captain Disgusted. And he needs an arch-enemy, like Lex Luther or The Green Goblin. Now, what terrifies the good citizens of Tunbridge Wells more than anything else? What fetid-breathed would-be horror would give them the biggest collywobbles? I've got it. Meet Captain Disgusted's arch-foe: The Labour MP.

We're moving on Sunday and won't have a phone line/internet till the middle of the week, so this will probably be my last entry until then. Bye for now.