Hello. I’ve only tried blogging once before and ended up sounding like I had escaped from the Priory a week before my due date. Having learnt absolutely nothing, I’m giving it another go (and also because twitter only allows 140 characters which wouldn’t give you enough to write the bloody shopping list)
Now the pleasantries are done, I digress.
My neighbours, who I have lived next door to for 6 years, have for some reason this year grated on my last nerve. Whether this is due to an age v’s tolerance thing, or just because I have suddenly realised that they are completely fucking barmy, I don’t know. But I am at that point of sneering every time I hear them. When I say my neighbours, one side is ok. They’re elderly, the husband likes making things and the wife likes a drink. But she’s a happy drunk who isn’t into modern ‘music’ so that’s fine. It’s the other side, the woman with ‘That Boyfriend Thing’, whose arguments I have listened to since 2006, who once took their argument outside and she chased him round my car with a raw chicken and proceeded to throw his under garments out of the window. (The local kids who were watching the debacle picked up one of said items and threw them in the tree, where they sat for ages, swinging in the wind like some Woodstock leftover).
Jim Royle (that hairy fella)
Year upon year such arguments have taken place, their script has become so predictable that I can recite it by heart and often have to stop myself from intervening if That Boyfriend Thing misses his cue. All this used to make me chuckle, now it makes me Jim bloody Royle (that hairy fella). Why has this happened and who are these people? Well, she is a Grandmother, 50 something, he rides a bike and is in his late 40’s. Age doesn’t matter, ‘social class’ (YUK) doesn’t matter, but manners and consideration do. And I’m from the school that doesn’t care if you were born with a penny or a pint or a Porsche, manners matter.
As does consideration.
Yes, I know when you’re in the middle of a row with your other half, niceties and caring what other people think can go completely out of the window (depending on where you are and the severity of the ‘crime’) and I’ve been guilty of it myself, but this happens every week, at least twice. And I want to throw things at them. My weapon of choice ranges from tomatoes (minimal impact) to bricks (on-target contact) and I want to tell them how bloody stupid they are and that clearly this union is never going to work so why don’t the pair of them just fuck off from each other. But I don’t. Because as gobby as I can be, I still have that London commuting reserved thingy instilled in me where we just observe, raise our brows and look at the adverts.
So now we are considering moving, not because of them, but this year they have certainly been a contributing factor. So instead of shouting over the fence, I’ll just call them a pair of fuckwits on here if that’s ok.