'His wife died you know, breast cancer, mmmm.'
'Oh'
I have long since stopped jumping put of my skin every time my neighbour pops up behind the deliberately overgrown fuchsia. The 'Oh' was more of a mask for the 'shit, shit, shit' that was running through my head whilst I planned a dastardly escape from the dreaded Irma (as in 'Irmageddon', can't tell you her real name - you'll laugh).
I had spent the morning trying to make the garden look like a garden again. Irma works until lunchtime so I thought that I could garden in peace. I suppose I had been doing my usual and was staring off into space when Irma caught in what she interpreted as a spot of 'Neighbourhoodwatching'.
'Mr B, mmm, did you know?'
Oh God, how to answer? If I engage I'll never get rid of her and I'll have to listen to entire life history's of the whole town.
Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that my neighbours are all very nice people. I like them being there but I don't want to enter into their lives.
Irma would like to enter mine. She's tried a few times. The last time she got in she asked when the carpets were coming!!
Her house is the antithesis of all things Victorian, a hermetically sealed tribute to the seventies. Mine embraces the old, 1882 glass and we are rather partial to the wobbly-bobbly horizon and the drafts that try to nick your slippers. They think we're weird!!
She and Mr Geddon were very excited when we moved in and were determined that we were going to become their 'new best friends'. Thankfully it only took a very drunken, housewarming party to set the record straight, but she forgets herself sometimes.
When the kids were younger we used to lie down on the floor and pretend we weren't in- tsk, tsk, I don't do net curtains either!
So, I was trapped, I put my hands up and listened to the sordid tale of poor Mr B until I spotted Big Fecker standing at the door.
'Don't mention coffee' I yelled telepathically ' I'll give you a tenner, you can get drunk at the weekend and I won't say a word, no coffee, no coffee!'
'Mum, Dementia's on the phone.'
I made my apologies and scuttled inside expecting the phone to be handed to me.
'You owe me one' Big Fecker said smiling!
9 comments:
I've got the most ignorant, mad, pathetic, selfish neighbours in the world. I'm sure I have. Living in a block of flats is a nightmare, especially when you've got a nutty old witch that's lived here for thirty years and thinks she owns the place! She hates anyone that stands up to her, especially 'young' people like me. Sorry, just needed to vent.
nice tale - very familiar, my garden suffers because of the dreaded neighbour-fear . . .
I've just spent two hours reading all of your blog, so funny.
Are you published?
No not published Mr A, just wishin'.
Does anybody have nice neighbours? My old neighbours were nice, they used to grow green in our attic. We had coffee with them and everything!!
I don't have problems with garden neighbours but, being in a house of flats, we get subjected to the elephant-children-syndrome-- upstairs neighbours who decide it is aesthetically pleasing to have bare floorboards, forgetting they have two under-5 year olds whose idea of a good time is racing back and forth at 6am in steel boots (at least that's what it sounds like from down here). At least you can escape with a phone-call!
When I lived in a flat, I was once woked at 3 am by the phone ringing. Blearily, I answered it, only to be yelled at "Turn that bloody noise down, some people are trying to sleep!" accompanied by sound of slamming the phone down. Bit annoying saying "wrong number you daft twit" to the dial tone....
I meant to type woken not woked, sorry!
off topic but I gotta say that I made your chai last night minx, used half 'n half water and soya milk and couldn't wait for the flask bit . . .
magnificient - I can see this becoming a regular treat . .
Oh zoiks, now they are all thinking that I'm Minx The Cookery Queen!
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