Regan, Carter, and now...

Welcome to The Sweeny

Have you seen that vigilante man?

Have you seen that vigilante man?

Have you seen that vigilante man?

I been hearin’ his name all over the land.

BLISS is the neighbourhood watch co-ordinator. So, if you pull over down our road for a phone call, glug of coffee (tiredness kills, take a break – so say the signs on the M25, the London Orbital, responsible for more frustration and tiredness per mile than any other road), or to check your map, you’d better have your papers in order and be ready for questioning.

“What is the purpose of your journey today, and why’re you hanging about in laybys, you slag?”

“I, er, was just looking for Abode-a-We, do you know where it is?”

“Can’t help you. Now. Move along, and don’t let me see you in these here parts again.”

I’ve more faith in us lot than in the police. They’ve offered visits from a PCSO. Clever that, the first PC initials suggesting some sort of police constable. The C stands for community. Community support officer. Great. If I want advice on how to secure my home, I’ll not be wasting my time with a retired accountant who likes dressing up.

Not that proper old Bill are all that proper any more. More likely to cart away the householder with the cricket bat than the burglar with the hooped jumper, mask and swag bag. But honestly, don’t offer us up a CSO. A grass with a uniform. That’s an insult.

Well, why does a vigilante man?

Tell me why does a vigilante man?

Carry that sawed-off shotgun in his hand?

Would he shoot his brother and sister down?

D-day tomorrow

In two ways. Jack Dee in the evening, although we can’t all go, because it’s also D the Dog day. The new rescue dog arrives tomorrow, and no doubt he will turn BLISS and DDL’s well-ordered lives, and my rather more chaotic one upside down.

I mistakenly thought that it was only football managers and agents that had clandestine meetings at motorway service stations. That’s where we’re going to pick DtD up from tomorrow morning. He’s come over from Greece, where there’s bit of a homeless dog crisis. I urgently need to formulate some old rubbish for when people do that boring “he’s lovely, what is he?” thing down the woods (I like to walk with the dogs, camera, and earphones if I’m on my own, but people still like to stop and talk nonetheless. A Greek waterhound, Aegean Shepherd, Athenian Wonderdog, Rhodes Ridgeback (nope, that’ll never fly).