Alex is a rather peculiar individual from the murky depths of Yorkshire. A description of their home village is as follows:
I’m originally from a pretty little village outside Bradford, surrounded by moorland. I am quite convinced it sits over The Seventh Seal. The Neighbourhood Watch Association can be seen battling the Town’s Women’s Guild for dominion over the village. The Elders have been here since before the beginning of time, and are immortal. Tiny old women skulk around, armed with handbags filled with rocks, ready to take your face off. Their long suffering husbands follow them about two feet behind, doddering and gibbering as they go.
These are the Wizened Imps of the Apocalypse. They’re the most powerful beings in existence, and survive by consuming trouble makers, for the GREATER GOOD. If you get stuck on a bus with them, you’re well fucked.
Friday nights usually involve a bloody battle between the inebriated locals, and whichever poor constable is on duty at the time. We have a village pervert (that isn’t me), a village cross dresser (who’s BRILLIANT), and a taxi service that has absolutely NO idea where it’s going, whatsoever.
How it has endured, is beyond me.
Alex has since fled this bizarre place, and resides in an undisclosed location somewhere in Yorkshire.