Gip.

I was born in Gip and raised in a village just a couple of miles away.  I worked in various shops/factories in Gip and went to Sixth Form there.  I saw bands, drank cider and kissed in cemeteries in Gip.  I’ve never had a problem walking through Gip at night.  I’ve frozen my arse off on the Town Hall steps [where all the cool kids hung out … do they still?] and been ‘shroom gathering in leafy parks.  I’ve chatted boys up at the Crown Pools and stalked John Wark in McDonalds. 

I like Gip.  I love Gip.  Gip would be the town I would love to live in, again.  Work in, again.  Or maybe Norwich.  Given the choice that would actually be a toughie.  But, for this entry’s sake, let’s say Gip is the place I feel most at home in, the place I could lay my weary head. 

Gip is really famous for nothing.  Oh, Thomas Wolsey was born in Gip, and Nik Kershaw went to school there.  John Peel, Griff Rhys-Jones and Val Lehman all have connections with Gip [Val Lehman lived two doors away from a friend of mine and we used to stare out of the window for hours [minutes] waiting for her to come home – we were huge Prisoner: Cell Block H fans]. 

Today Gip is headline news. 

National headline news. 

[click]

It’s the sort of thing that only happens up north.  Or in London.  Or maybe Birmingham.  It doesn’t happen in Gip.  Gip is refined and … nice.  Quiet and gentle. 

Surely nobody in Gip could be a serial killer? 

Ack, I’m better off living here where the children have webbed feet and they can’t pronounce their t’s. 

please God bless the girls of Gip and keep them safe xxx Elsabeth 

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12 comments

  1. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be the Man Seen Wandering Around Portman Road at 10pm on Monday night, as described by Crimewatch or Crimestoppers or whenever they make a televised appeal. Watch this space.Gip? Murder Capital of the East. It’s almost exciting (honest, you can’t help feel the buzz when you’re in the company of Stewart White and George Alagiah). Plus the second girl was found yards – literally yards – from where Andrew parks his car at Good Old Gladwells.Be safe. Be sound.

  2. Is it the next Jack the Ripper, I wonder? Some debauched repressed individual?
    I meant to say “Putting up the Christmas tree”…you know..not actually hanging the Christmas tree literally and making dinner out of it… I meant making dinner with edible items like chicken..and buying a tree, standing it up the normal way…and getting the boxes of ornaments and lights and threads of ribbons out to decorate it together and debate over how crooked the lights are. That sort of deal..

  3. Jack the Gipper? Eek! But seriously, for a change, we never expect these things on our doorsteps (albeit old ones). Just shows that it can happen in even the most unexpected of places. Now wha was that abou webbed fee?

  4. It is a bit scary, isn’t it ? I’ve decided that my viewing this evening is Waking The Dead; the episode about the guy who murdered prostitutes. I’ve seen it loads of times, and it’s the first time I’ve felt uncomfortable watching it.
    Jack the Gipper ? ‘Scuse the black sense of humour, but I have to laugh at that.
    L xx

  5. I can’t think of any reason whatsoever to stalk John Wark. Honestly. [do you know, I searched for John Wark on Google to make sure it was who I thought it was, and the first site that came up was uglyfootballers.com]

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