Secret Lairs and Hiding Holes

Every Monday morning, as we sit more or less coherently at the kitchen table, my room-mate and I muse over the "hallelujah's" and organ music floating around our back garden. We don't know where it comes from, only that its source is community church-flavoured. So over the Mondays we've developed theories ranging from a neighbour with a passion for blasting religious radio-shows, to an underground lair of the catacomb variety, where hundreds of Hallelujah-singers meeting on Monday mornings to offer praises to their God. But this morning, oooh this morning, we figured it out. Between the hallelujah's a voice announced something to the effect of:
"And our Grade 8 learners....mumble....mumble...."
"HEY!" I exclaimed, "It's coming from the school!" Thandokhulu High School is on the Main Road, probably about half a kilometre from our house. Easily within earshot.
My room-mate listened as the announcer read names after shouting "position 10..... position 9..... position 8....." and then as the audience erupted in cheers.
"It definitely sounds like kids," she concurred over hummus-toast.
Mystery solved. Although, admittedly, it was a far more intriguing state of affairs when catacombs were still on the table.

So no secret lairs. But over the road from our front gate is a storm-water drain, which serves as a hiding-hole for one of the homeless men who live in our area. Periodically you see him walking to the drain, bending his knees till they almost touch the ground, lifting the cover and shifting it to the side, and then depositing or withdrawing a plastic bag filled with unknown goods.

Got to embrace the underground intrigue when you can.