Not a dead body after all

Well, there was certainly a hoo-ha going on at number 12 last night, at first I thought it was an animal protesting about the fireworks, there were certainly enough of them to protest about, not so much a celebration as an audio tribute to a war zone.

It wasn’t an animal, it was Margaret Ramshock arriving home with her husband Reg, they had been at the club and seemed a little worse for wear; not that I could see that well, I hung back a bit from the curtain in case they thought I was snooping. She tripped over

something and initially let loose a swear word or two, but then she started screaming, ‘It’s a body, a skeleton, Reg call the police, it’s dead.’

I stayed in the house but I noticed that the floozy from number 7, the old man Tom from number 16 and the miseries from number 11 all appeared at their doors to get a better view; some people are so brazen.

I watched until about 3 am, when the police finally left after removing the body, by which time I had a rick in my neck of epic proportions, I must invest in a comfier chair in the New Year.

Luckily Margaret Ramshock has a booming voice that carries well, so I didn’t even have to get out of bed to hear her relaying the incident to Catherine Morgan, who she met in the road today. According to Reg, who used to work in a butchers so knows a lot about bodies, it was the pelvis and legs of a woman, no age was given, but I was impressed with that level of detail, especially after a night out at the club. They will have to wait a few days before the police can confirm anything but the general view seems to be that a cat probably dug the bones up when going about its business, which is why it has suddenly been found.

The papers today are full of new year resolutions, diets and the best way to stick to your targets, people make things so complicated, personally I’ll be happy if I manage to get a fitted sheet for the bed in the spare room, try at least one of Paul Hollywood’s bread recipes and cut my toenails - before they get to the pinching stage.

As it turns out they didn’t have to wait for a result on the body, apparently it was the skeleton of a foxes head with a bit of flesh hanging off it.

Margaret is very relieved, personally I’m more concerned about her own body, a foxes head is really quite pointy, if Reg is using her pelvis as a yardstick for skeletal identification…well goodness only knows where she finds knickers with a gusset to meet her needs.