Welcome to Surrey

Yesterday, scandal broke in my sleepy little town. Not your garden variety dog-off-leash-on-the-beach, paperboy-late-bringing-the-peacearchnews scandal. This was real, honest to goodness Surrey-style scandal. Yes, my sleepy little town was home to a shooting...a fatal shooting...by the cops.

Now, I'm going to fathom a guess and say that in most Surrey neighbourhoods this type of an event would be met with sighs of acknowledgement and the presence of maybe two cop cars...three if we're feeling lucky. But not my neighbourhood. No, in this lethargic beach town we were lovingly graced with the presence of fifteen police vehicles! It just goes to show how dull, verging on comatose, my corner of the world can be.

Don't get me wrong. This is a tragedy. The police are here to protect us and shouldn't go around bringing the wild west to quaint resort towns. It's just not done. But at the same time...you're kind of asking for it if you walk around brandishing a gun. The people do not stand for such distractions from their yoga and watercolours. They will stand proudly on their lush lawn, brandishing hedge clippers in disgust from behind their white picket fences. They will not turn a blind eye, as they have an opinion on everything.

So, alas, this is what happens when people bring guns and erratic behaviour to a town where the latest excitement was when little Timmy kicked over his sister's sandcastle at the annual festival of the sea. Trigger happy cops and gun-wealding drug dealers. It's nice to feel as though I truly belong to the city on my address for once.