Norfolk (where I live), Suffolk and Cambridgeshire form East Anglia – a rural English backwater where nothing much ever happens. Until now, sadly.
Five young women have been murdered in Suffolk recently. They all worked as prostitutes in Ipswich’s ‘red light’ district and all appear to have been killed by the same person. Their bodies were dumped in villages within a few miles of the city.
All of which would be dreadful enough, but for the ill-disguised delight that the news media – particularly the two local channels – are showing in the huge Police investigation which is underway to catch the killer. Last night two local reporters were even interviewing each other on the main TV news in order to string out the report further.
And don’t even start me on all the sanctimonious local churches who are holding (televised) memorial services for the dead women. Where the hell were they when those women really needed them? When they were having sex with maladjusted strangers in factory car parks to feed a drug habit they didn’t have the support to kick?
Which brings me on to Monty Don. I really admire that man and his, well okay, maybe a little naive but nonetheless practical, attempts to help a group of young drug addicts escape their addiction and the bleak lives that reinforce it through his home farm project. Go Monty!