The Land That God Forgot has had a mixed history. It's population had ebbed and flowed depending on whether the local heavy industries were open or shut. These days the population is down and many of the houses are occupied by commuters, families or retired folk. There are also a number of holiday cottages around.
One part of the culture which has remained constant is the liking of a good drink followed by a punch up. The local volatile town is famous for it and convoys of cars or busloads arrive from other towns in the area and attempt, successfully in most cases, to bate and stir the locals into action.
"Let's yer know you're alive," the youth told me on the Vallium Run yesterday. "Aye," he said through rose tinted specs, "a lad lost an eyebrow on Saturday night. Bitten reet off."
"Aye," said another passenger. "Times don't change. The doorman got a reet hammering the other night, as he wouldn't let some folk in."
It can only get worse over the coming days. It's the office party season. I felt one eyebrow followed by the other. It was consoling to find they were still there. I have another duty to do on Vallium before Christmas. Perhaps I should revise my fancy dress to include some ski goggles. The eyes would be safe, but my big nose might just be too tempting a target.
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