WARNING **Contains scenes of an unsavoury nature**
The parents of the two lads who lived immediately next door came to help return them to their respective family folds. They cited the reason for moving as being able to save more money if they lived at home to eventually buy their own properties rather than rent. I rather suspect that the appeal of independent living soon waned when it became apparent that independence walks hand in hand with those other bed fellows – cooking, cleaning and ironing. With the last of the cushions, pillows and duvets finally stuffed into the family cars and vans they left and all was peaceful for a short while.
The tell tale sign of the landlord’s lackey parked in the driveway heralded the sight of the next Carnival of the Damned and sure enough not long after, the family hatchback. The lackey tipped us off that they had deemed it suitable and that the “lovely quiet family” would indeed be moving in come the first of the month.
The usual charabanc of goods and chattels arrived together with two teenagers who after discovering the buzzer and intercom system were kept happily amused for what seemed like hours. It was like being trapped in an endless game of Knock-a-door Run whilst as usual the guardians were totally oblivious to the constant buzzing.
The father figure didn’t appear to drive which is unusual. My mother, of course would have concluded that he’d been convicted of drink driving and lost his job as a result meaning they’d lost their house. She would have made it her mission to construct various ruses to se whether he was wearing an electronic tag for proof. All on no evidence – I blame her daily exposure to The Daily Mail and Jeremy Kyle. She may, of course, have been correct and we will never know although he certainly appeared to work in the evenings as the “Mrs” drove him somewhere and returned alone a short while later. Eventually he disappeared completely and has not been since since.
I was only too aware of how thin the dividing walls are one Sunday morning as I remain aurally scarred at the memory of her “seeing to herself”. An image I couldn’t quite remove when she appeared at the door not long after to collect a parcel I’d taken in for her. I suppose I could give her the benefit of the doubt and chalk it up as an isolated attack of asthma but honestly she was at it for that long I’d wager she had a tide mark up to the elbow and fingers like prunes for some time after!
The worst influence was her sister who regularly brought a car load of brats to feast upon E number addled fizzy drinks and pizza before turning in to screaming banshees with leaden feet. I should be grateful I suppose they no longer wear clogs even in these northern parts. The sister would stay overnight where the constant din and music would become increasingly louder. The impromptu 3am karaoke session was the final straw for me.
She has since been referred to by me as “Dog Breath” although I’m not suggesting she does have the fetid exhalations of Cerberus but it was the first name I thought of when she irritated me yet again with her selfishness and squalor so it has stuck.
Everything is just too much trouble and so the Christmas tree was hurled out in to the back garden where it remains rotting and occasionally strimmed around rather than moving it into the garden waste recycle bin. That itself has been left for months with the lid open so it is now full to the limit with a thick film of algae adorning the surface. The green contrasts nicely with the two abandoned rusting barbecues alongside. A third has been bought and as that has also been left after it was used once to cremate the usual duo of frozen burgers and sausages so it won’t be long before that’s yet another rusting mess. Of course the packaging box blew around the garden after it too was dumped and abandoned until it too became sodden, turning to cardboard pulp.
The slum conditions which she creates continued and I did wonder one day why she bothers with her scant regard to recycling that she doesn’t just chuck the ubiquitous empty pizza, cereal, ready meal etc boxes directly on to the front garden instead of the current system where she piles them up uncrushed in the unlidded recycling box for the wind to do the same job a week later.
Until that is, a new man appeared on the scene. The sister was ousted and she was on her best behaviour. For a short while anyway, but she does appear to have bagged him and his presence does reduce the appearance of her sister albeit at the expense of his untaxed, tatty hatchback parked permanently on the drive. It does act as a windbreak though which reduces the amount of their cardboard which ends up in my front garden. Every cloud and all that..
Time has marched ever onwards and so has the pretence of being a model wife. So the lawn strimming, such as it is has been reduced to it’s annual basis as indeed has hers – the telltale “buzz” of the Ladyshave only happening when they are going to a “do”.