Peter is a lawyer, a city lawyer at that, but by his own admission not a very successful one. In fact his greatest legal triumph to date is getting a parking ticket overturned by means of presenting obscure case law to a county court judge.

Nick works in insurance and is climbing the city broker ladder very nicely thankyou. Nick and Peter are neighbours and they catch the train together each morning and while away the hour discussing fine wine, exotic skiing, their wives' credit cards and their children's scholastics.

A year ago the morning conference took on a more serious tone. They had a problem. Peter and his neighbours live in what they like to believe is a special street, or in fact a special crescent. The houses are much much larger than the average house in the area. The houses share a private garden with a high wall and three rows of barbed wire strung along the top to deter non-residents. Life in the crescent was royally splendid. Until... until the unwelcome arrival of the undesirables at No. 1. It takes more than just the cash to become a resident of the crescent. There are limits after all. Like I say, these houses are big, massive in fact, with enough floors and rooms to make you think you're living in a hotel. And here lies Peter's (and his neighbours') problem. The new and unacceptable residents want to turn their palace into a hotel! Not a mountainous room-rate, boutique-stylised, nicey-nicey, super plush hotel that the Peters could boast to their friends about, oh no, the unacceptables at the end of the road want to turn their newly-acquired five storey Grade 2 listed mansion into a run-of-the-mill, down market, bog-standard, basic Brighton B&B.

Something must be done about this, and quick. A committe is hasitly convened and the full weight of the local profesionalista is brought to bear on the hapless newcomers. A few words in the right ear at the council and an injuction from the county court is only a short-term measure. Now that war has been declared, victory itself will not satisfy the indignation of the guardians of a very special back yard. These people must be taught a lesson. If we let them get away with it they might just move on and try and open up a hotel in another listed street where the inhabitants are less organised. So, with a new-found righteousness in one hand, a spirit of protecting the world from evil hoteliers in the other and a serious case of nimby stuck somewhere else, the indigenous population hatch a final (and in their minds, brilliant) solution. Simply tie the offenders in enough court cases (one from each resident) to keep them busy , but out of business, for the next 300 years, and, (and this is the brilliant part) take out an insurance policy against loss of each case which will pay out enough to buy the lease of No. 1 in the unlikely event of plan A failing. Nick the insurance man at number 14 is especially proud of the part he's been able to play in the new crusade.

A year passes, Nick gets promoted, twice, the wannabe B&B'ers move on, everyone's happy. Everyone that is except Peter. Peter has a problem, Peter and the mother of his children have a problem. After 25 years of putting it off, Peter has been persuaded to go through the motions of a full on, expensively arranged, and exceedingly well-attended wedding. Laura (and her mother) have decided that it's time to tie a very expensive knot. Peter's grilfriend's mother is one of five siblings, each with their own extensive progeny. Where are they all going to stay?

chillicheese is a Brighton-based blogger and restaurant reviewer who can't help listening to other people's conversations on trains; that's where he overheard this story.

Moshen Rasulov who took the photo is an Iranian photoblogger, currently living in the UK.

12:25 PM - 5/5/2006 - post comment

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Re:

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