He had noticed the large expensive houses, many with a thatched roof and artificial beams.

All with electric double gates, signs making it known to prospective criminals the place was fully alarmed.

Security cameras noting every move from a squirrel who had declared war on the birds` peanut bag to robins nesting in the hedge.

 The cars and four by fours not in the large garages built to house them but parked on the drive as the common people did. Some with matching his and hers personalised number plates.

 The joggers all in top of the range running gear and of course carrying the inevitable bottles of water, though from the pace they were running the likelihood of them ever being dehydrated seemed remote.

He had realised before they bought the bungalow in this Cheshire village that due to its location from Manchester, Chester and the industrial parts of Cheshire such as Crewe, that it was the very ideal location for professionals working in these places, who, having got on now moved away to the rural areas.

 He thought it would not be long before some at least would get onto the local council and commence to educate what locals there were left on the ways of yuppies, such as no smelly manure from the nearby farm.

 He had witnessed what he thought was a funny incident during a preliminary visit to the area last spring.

He had been parked in a lay-by. Anne had been sorting out the packed lunch when a farm tractor and trailer had gone by at a steady 20 miles per hour leading a long convoy of very irritable car drivers.

The drivers of the cars obviously, Cheshire yuppies in a rush to get home to change either into their keep fit or running attire had been blasting their car horns to show their disapproval.

One car he recalled clearly, it had been a white Rolls Royce, must have cost a fortune, not to mention the number plate which read CHE 5H1 but it had been adapted, the 5 to an S, so that it appeared to read CHESH1.

 The driver not only blasted the tractor driver as he passed but called through a side window

“You fucking Shit Kicker”

The farmer would not hear the abuse due to the noise unless he was lip reader but he would recognise the two-finger salute the yuppie gave him.

It was only about half an hour later when the tractor drove past again but in the opposite direction. Followed by the same Rolls car and the irate driver still blasting.

Suddenly the trailer at the rear must have gone into motion for suddenly there was a massive what could only be described as a shower of shit over Cheshire, which engulfed the white Rolls Royce car.

As the tractor drove by its driver smiled, winked and put up a thumb to Jack, indicating that he could in fact, lip-read.

Thinking of the vast numbers of rules and the wealth of the new inhabitants with money available to spend on legal representation, wind farms would be a definite no, no.

If things went true to form the police would be out in force at 8 30am each day to ensure that parents depositing their children at the local primary school would be harassed not to park their cars.

 However, further down the road he had noticed the private school it was called The Blue School. It would no doubt be seemingly exempt from any such harassment by the crown employees once called the local police.

Anne Richards a small lady, no more than five feet four inches tall  possibly less, very slim, she looked much younger than her 59 years of age.

Although she pooh poohed it when Jack told her she could still turn the head of many men, some young, well younger. She quietly was a little on the proud side, thinking that she must arrange a session at the hairstylist she had seen in the village when they arrived.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang, “whoever could that be?” She thought.

She answered the door, there were two women standing there one carrying a bunch of flowers the other a cake. They were aged mid fifties, possibly 60 years of age, wearing the country green and brown coats and heavy-duty skirts.

“Heavens” thought Anne, “Raffle ticket sellers or charity collectors at this hour, they don’t seem to be the church or save the children type and were certainly not the red nose people, more likely some horse preservation society”.

“Good heavens I hope I have some change, on the other hand they seemed the type who would only take donations in the form of five or ten pound notes”.

“I say, I am Melissa Wainwright and this is Felicity Ryton-Jones, we are from the new Tarporley Court residents association, we thought to call and just make you welcome”.

“Well that is very kind of you,” replied Anne, “would you please step inside?"

“Well no,” chimed in Felicity, “you see we have a coffee gathering at the church very soon, I presume you will eventually be church goers, we all are you see, the Reverend Davidson is such a nice man, much better than these lady vicars being planted about”.

Melissa smiled and said, “We just thought to bring you these flowers and this cake as a welcome home, thing”.

“Well that is so kind of you,” replied Anne with a smile and a "what is coming next look?”

“What profession or business is your hubby involved with?” said Felicity”.

“Oh, Jack, he is retired”.

“Retired what?” they both said simultaneously”

“He was a police officer,” said Anne.

The faces of both callers dropped and Anne thought that at any moment they would say, could we have the cake and flowers back?”

 It wouldn’t have mattered she never ate cake she had not made herself and the lilies they had brought often gave her breathing difficulties, in fact hospitals banned them.

At that, she gave a loud sneeze and thought, “here I go these blasted lilies”.

“Oh he was a policeman you say?”

They had dropped faces but then recovered a little when Anne said. “Yes he was a superintendent, a detective at New Scotland Yard”.

“Oh I see,” said Felicity “just a policeman, well, oh very well perhaps we may see you at the coffee shop in the week but please don’t feel you should come.”

 “You do go to church?” Or perhaps no, you may be Salvation Army people, are you?”

They turned and began to leave then spoke to each other and turned and Felicity said “Oh by the way the glasshouse you have erected, if you check your deeds you will see no additional buildings are permitted”.

“I just thought I would mention it, rather than you having a surprise next week when someone from the planning office visits”

“The chief planning officer lives just up the road you know, he is bound to see, good day”.

Anne closed the door as Jack arrived inside and commented,

“The glass house is ideal, by the way who was at the door?”

“Well it was a welcome committee; they brought these flowers and this cake”.

She walked past him, went outside opened the bin dumping the items inside and returned.

“Not very appreciative of you Anne, throwing those away”.

“Well the Lilies affect my breathing and the cake; one never knows where it was mixed or baked”.

“Oh by the way, as they left they pointed out no additional buildings are permitted, it seems your glasshouse will have to come down”.

“They added the chief planner lives just down the road you can anticipate a visit next week.”

“Bastards, I will go and check”.

He left the room went into his study, after a search he found his copy of the deeds and arrived down stairs with a drooped chin

“They are correct, it does say no additional building, caravans, vans, Lorries to name but some".

“From the way they looked when I told them you had been a policeman, it seems they are also banned”

“Seems we have arrived at the nicest shit house in the whole country,” he said as he went and shut himself away in his study.