our neighbourhood

Derby, with over 1,000 ghost sightings per year, is known as the paranormal capital of the UK. Many of the pubs in the City Centre offer weekly ghost walks in their cellars and through the dungeons of former gaol. Because of the walk's ghastly price, we haven't taken part.

Thankfully, we don't hear any rattling of chains or eery moans from our attic but our no-through road, lined with brick houses on either side, has its own pair of eyes and ears, in the form of a lady that lives across the street from us. This elderly lady -- there's nothing transparent about her appearance -- knows absolutely every on-goings on the road: from what people do for a living, to how much the house three doors down from us is renting for, to which couple had the most recent row. She even knows who is heard crying -- ranging from quiet whimpering to full-fledge wailing -- in the early mornings walking in high heels to the newsagent at the corner.

Because her neighbourly knowledge, the front curtains need to be carefully drawn from now on.