The summer holidays are now in full swing. Gangs of youths are cruising the cul de sac, making life unbearable for the residents. Identifiers (gang signs) include, pink scooters, bridesmaid dresses and yesterday, polka dot handbags. At one point I saw a fellow gang member (6 year old Lilly) sent home to fetch a Disney princess tiara. Bizarre initiation perhaps? Sadly I  couldn't bear to watch. Thankfully the rules changed pretty quick and soon Lilly joined a splinter group and was reinstated into gang lifestyle with added kudos simply by suggesting they could all wear Dora the Explora tattoos for the afternoon. 

Although this activity does bring back memories of darker times. A few years ago, in a cul de sac not far from here, another resident of our historic market town (where they do occasional filming for Midsomer Murders) became rather agitated after sending his girlfriend out for pizza. Whether it was because she returned with a seafood special when what he really craved in his drug induced stupor was an Hawaiian, or perhaps it was the sight of John Nettles ( maybe he was a Bergerac fan)  i guess we will never know, but he took it upon himself to take refuge in his attic meth lab, threaten to burn the house down and throw burning petrol bombs out of his velux window at the police who had gathered below. I think the pictures below tell the story quite nicely (obviously I couldn't use real pictures so I have used Happy land figures to illustrate, please apply a liberal use of imagination).

http://www.flickr.com/photos/38530317@N02/7752606360/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/38530317@N02/7752606334/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/38530317@N02/7752606178/

The siege lasted a good feature length episode of Rosemary and Thyme, and despite my gratuitous use of a gingerbread man pastry cutter no one actually got hurt.

On a serious note, the stress of Cotswold living and the school holidays reached fever pitch for one neighbour last night. At around 9:30 pm shouting could be heard, actually not shouting, screaming. So loud in fact that my hubby and I ran outside only to hear a neighbour call her 8 year old daughter ( I will attempt to put this delicately) a "effing little (insert C word here)" . Apparently this little girl had been entrusted with the electric meter key and lost it on the way home. Not that I wish to judge, but there appears to be so many things wrong with this scenario I don't actually know where to start. Perhaps if said neighbour got off her magnificently proportioned arse and got the electric herself she wouldn't have been plunged into darkness. This poor little girl had to be screamed at, called one of the most terrible things I can think of and then had to witness her mother kick the meter box off the wall. It really was quite disturbing. 

Think I may do the neighbourly thing later, and drop a pack of tea lights, 2 litres of Frosty Jacks and todays episode of Jeremy Kyle on her doorstep (after all she may pick up some parenting tips).