What?
A street in Hull. Forgive me, a "Private Road" in Hull. Which we suspect may have something terribly wrong with it.

When?
May 2006 -

Why?
The Octagon lies not too far from the hearth and home of HMIM stalwarts Big John, Tessa, Spanner and Saz, so I see it a lot. That, combined with some intangible aspect of the place, lit the blue touch paper on this one.

What happened?
Up until recently, not much other than me driving past every day or so and pointing and laughing.

For those unfamiliar with the place, the layout is based on a simple geometrical shape, with houses around the sides. If you can't guess how many sides there are, maths clearly isn't your strong point. In the middle is a sort of mysterious island of mud, covered in enormous conifer trees. The whole thing gives the impression of a residential arboretum created by a madman. This inner sanctum of The Octagon remains a mystery to most, since it's a clearly marked "Private Road".

After a very heavy night of drinking in The Star (HMIM's official watering hole, see below), we formed a plan: Operation Octagon. Actually, 'plan' is a bit of a kind way of putting it. As with the plan to kidnap Nestle Man, this one was a potential road to death, glory, or the inside of a police cell - possibly all three. The ideas being bounced around by an increasingly worse-for-wear team included:

• Buy every house in The Octagon for use as a HMIM team hideout. Estimated cost: £2 million. Estimated funds: zero.
• Erect a tree house in one of the trees on the central island.
• Get a team photo taken in the middle of The Octagon.
• Carry out some sort of mail drop to establish contact with Octagon residents.
• Camp out in the Octagon for a sort of sleep over. 

Clearly, some of these ideas are more practical than others.

During that night we also formed a number of theories with regard to the typical resident of The Octagon. In fairness to the people who actually have the honour of living there, it's only reasonable to point out that we were basing them on something I can't now recall. We eventually decided that the place may be the heart of some sort of evil force - like the mouth of Hell or something. We suspect that the typical resident of The Octagon would fit into one of three categories:

1. Weird loner undergoing isolated mental disintegration - as with Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
2. Sexual oddball, car-keys-in-a-bowl, award-winning-collection-of-pornographic-material, perverted swinging hellcat.
3. Survivalist readying themselves for imminent apocalypse.

Naturally, all these people would wish to maintain a certain distance from the rest of society. Therefore explaining the jealously defended nature of the place. Any or all residents may be aware of the uncomfortable atmosphere pervading the area around The Octagon. Some of this could be explained by Big John's diet, but not all of it. There's definitely something more there.

Following this worthy discussion, Spanner regaled us with a story from her childhood, pertaining to an unfortunate resident of a street very near The Octagon. The story suggests that, perhaps, The Octagon's psychic tentacles extend further than you might imagine. Leaning back to fill her pipe¹, and stoking up the fire as the wind whistled round the eaves of The Star, Spanner shared the following shiver inducing tale (somewhat paraphrased).

"I remember when I was about fifteen" she said, sucking on her briar¹ to get it glowing to her satisfaction before leaning back in her chair. Given that this was only a few years ago, it's good that she remembers.
"I used to go to the shops with my friends, and there used to be this man...he wasn't stupidly old but he used to wear this jumper that had huge holes in, old style fishing trousers and wellies, and he had a big grey beard". While the rest of the team silently calculated whether they counted as 'stupidly old' (Big John may have done), and what exactly constituted 'fishing trousers', Spanner continued with her story.
 "Do you know what he used to do? He used to stand by the bus stop outside the Halifax and watch the traffic, and he used to stand there all day". Spanner nodded significantly, giving the fire another experimental prod as we felt the hairs on our necks begin to rise. All day? This was an aberration of a type that nature had never intended. Seeing the shiver pass round the team, Spanner nodded with satisfaction, and went on.
"This is the weirdest thing", she added, eying us significantly, brow furrowed for emphasis.
"Me and my friend Gian decided to see where he lived, and so we followed him back to..."- Spanner then named a street. I won't repeat it here, but it's adjacent to The Octagon; the significance of which was about to become frighteningly clear.
"His house was like the house out of  'The 'Burbs'"² she said.
"Weeds filled the garden, the door creaked back and forth, hanging half off the hinges. The place was like a mausoleum. What confused us the most, was that every pair of curtains in the house were sewn together"
So what had happened to this poor, benighted soul, seemingly ensnared in the invisible web of evil surrounding The Octagon? As the team gave a collective shudder, and Big John uttered an unusually loud belch, Spanner reached her chilling conclusion.
"He's completely disappeared now, I haven't seen him since then". Brrr.
Leaning back once more in her chair, knocking out her pipe¹, Spanner flashed her trademark grin.
"Willerby", she observed quietly, "Isn't as posh as people make out". How right you are Spanner. How right you are.

Then we all had another ten pints and Deb and I got lost going home. For four hours. 

¹ Not a euphemism.

² For anyone outside Spanner's target audience, The 'Burbs is a 1989 Tom Hanks film in which Hanks' character begins to suspect that his new neighbour's family is a satanic cult. For anyone wishing to get a feel for my obsession with The Octagon, this is probably required viewing.

Several days later, Spanner put the first leg of the nebulous Operation Octagon into action. Living so near, she was able to take the risk of actually setting foot on the unhallowed ground of The Octagon's central island. Thankfully, despite the risks, Spanner returned intact and relatively sane, to produce the following gallery of images. Naturally enough, there are eight to enjoy.

When Will it End?
Possibly if The Octagon opens up to reveal its true nature as the mouth of Hell. Perhaps also if I ever get to buy a house there.

Loose Ends
The following loose ends still remain. If you can answer them, please contact me.