Des.... Oh God, Des.
Brighton is a city blessed with those who have seen the cold, electric-blue light of madness. None more so than my old next door neighbour Des.

Aside from the typical dysfunctional family screamings at all hours, we had the pleasure of:

- A swaying, bemused and bloody headed Des hammering on our back door at 11 o/clock at night. Having tried, and messily failed, to scale an eight foot wall seperating our gardens. He was saying something subtle and heartwarming as we pushed him kindly yet firmly back over to his own pad. I think it was 'she's a fucking bitch'.

- Des's entire family busting down our front door about 2 hours later accusing us of 'stealing his wallet'. Their 12 year old daugher ended up persuading them that this was probably not the case. Des tried to make it up to us by coming over again and offering us a blood sodden and badly rolled joint. Erm, no thanks......

- Awaking to see Des pummeling seven, maybe more, shades of crap out of his wife on the back lawn. The police were duly called.

Around the time his wife disappeared forever, Des built a tree house (IE, randomly hammered a load of MDF to the wall). We dread to think what he used it for.....
(Speculum, Thu 25 Aug 2005, 21:20, Reply)