There's no real way to open up a blog with the customary "first post" (even though this is technically the second), so I might as well have at it.
I'm happy to say, I escaped.
Escaped what, you might ask?
Escaped years of living in an area populated by swarming, feral animals who only got worse as time went by (they do exist, despite what people who've likely never even been into one of these areas will tell you).
We dreamed of getting off the rental chain and onto the property ladder; because of the price of everything, all we could afford was a heap of a house in an extremely dubious area. Everyone told us it was bad; we knew the reputation. But it was that, or stay renting in an increasingly cramped house.
If this is the point where I rue the day I ever moved there, sorry - not going to happen. I don't regret it, because it toughened me in ways you couldn't possibly imagine. I've seen the most insane horrors inflicted upon other people, their pets, their homes, their cars, their lives. I had my eyes opened to the absolute madness that is England. I'm thankful for it, if somewhat perplexed by it.
Previously, I lived in an area with the similar reputation - despite this, nobody harassed you, nobody screwed with you, you could walk home from a night out with no fear of getting your head kicked in.
This place? You couldn't go out of your home if it was a moment after 3PM, which coincidentally was the time the "kids" got out of school (which looked less like a school, and more like one of those American prisons with the twelve foot high electrified fences).
There was nothing you could do to fix this place, nor cure it of its ills. You could, however, work up a cracking yarn. I hope when I'm done, you'll share some of yours with me...