As I drove home from work this morning the
pundits on the radio were talking about how the planned meeting
of Donald Trump and Kim Jung-un has been
cancelled. I can’t help but feel that an actual meeting is the last thing
either of them want. The promise of a meeting which is forever on-again
off-again would be far better for them – it will keep the public’s attention
for ages.
There was also talk
about the latest estimates of the cost of Brexit. Whether or not it was the
right decision is irrelevant; the decision has been made. But it was an
expensive decision especially when you bear in mind that it was sold to the
masses as a financial saving. The Governor of the Bank of England says it has
left households nine hundred pounds worse off,
and there will still be twenty
billion quid extra to find each year. In
the lead-up to the referendum the leaders of the “Leave” campaign were crystal clear in their promises that Brexit
would save the country money. Would it be *that*
unreasonable for the government to bankrupt Boris Johnson and Nigel Farrage as
a punishment if for no better reason than to make politicians accountable for making
promises that they clearly cannot keep?
I took the dogs round
the park; Treacle ran in terror from other dogs, Fudge humped and picked
fights, OrangeHead’s posse were civil… a rather dull walk really.
As we walked I spoke with
"Daddy’s
Little Angel TM" on the phone. She’s been discharged from jury
service. Apparently this isn’t the same as being expelled; it turns out they
don’t need her. She was told that the courts don’t take on much work over the
Bank Holiday period. It struck me that criminals work round the clock every day
of the year and take maybe a couple of minutes do perform their nefarious acts.
The courts on the other hand only work weekdays, have short working hours,
clearly don’t put themselves out at weekends, and take ages to deliberate.
British justice(!)
We came home to see
nice-next-door loading up their removal van. Today was their moving day. Such a
shame…
We've
not had much luck with our neighbours since we moved into our current house in
the autumn of 1991. When we moved in there was a rather vicious nasty woman and
her hen-pecked weasel of a husband in the house next door (going down the road from us). This was years before the bypass had
been built, and (being obsessed with
peace and quiet) they were not happy that they had moved in to what was
then the busiest street in the town. They never forgave us for moving into the
house where their friends had once lived and they made no secret of the fact
that they despised children in general and ours in particular. I can distinctly
remember having to reprimand "My Boy TM" and "Daddy’s
Little Angel TM" (both
aged about six and seven) for standing in the back garden singing (to the tune of the Australian soap-opera “Neighbours”)
“Neighbours… we hate the f… ing
neighbours”.
After
years of her constantly complaining about trivia they moved out and were
replaced with the current neighbours who I often refer to as “not-so-nice-next-door”. I honestly
believe he is clinically insane; she looks at me like I am the sh*t on her
shoe. Neither have hardly said a word to us since I had a solicitor write to
them over ten years ago when they didn’t seem to realise that I don’t need
their permission to lead my own life.
He
hasn't been seen for over a year, and I am wondering what is going on. I
suspect he might be in a secure mental unit, but I could be wrong.
The
house next door up the road from us is a different story. No one *ever* stays for any length of time
there.
When
we moved in there was a little old lady who kept herself to herself.
She
was replaced by the mother-in-law of the other neighbours. We got on well with
her to the disgust of the other neighbours.
After
her it is all something of a blur. I can't remember the exact order, and I may
have forgotten some ...
There
was the drunk Irishman who would play crap music at 2am.
There
were two young Australian ladies who would sunbathe in the garden in the nip (I liked them).
There
was a Nigerian family who would never pull the blind in their toilet.
There
were two young lads who were great fun.
There
was the Nigerian fellow who would regularly have a "crafty Joddrell" into the toilet in the evenings; the shadows
of which on their bathroom blind were rather entertaining
There
was the odd couple who tried to blame the flood from their upstairs bathroom on
my downstairs washing machine.
There
was the young family who ran away owning thousands (we had the debt collectors asking after them for months).
There
were the people with three dogs each of which was the size of a cart-horse.
There
was the nice couple who moved round the corner to Francis Road.
Then
there was the lot who did noisy sex and who moved out today.
On
Sunday 13 November 2016 I wrote about the most recent neighbours: “As we pulled up so our new neighbour was
coming out of next door. We chatted for a few minutes; he seems pleasant
enough. Here’s hoping”. Chatting with him I got the distinct impression
that he feels that I had let him down. He’s moving to one of the new housing
estates where he hopes there will be a sense of community that he feels is
lacking in Beaver Road. I suspect he was hoping that when he moved in next door
to us, his neighbours would also be his best friends; we were never home long
enough to get chummy. Personally I subscribe to the “Good fences make good neighbours” philosophy. I’m an old misery-guts
in that respect.
I
suspect he is hoping to find a ready-made group of people to be his friends.
Such groups are out there; you just have to find them… I *think* he is hoping that by moving house such a group will find
him. I *think* he will be
disappointed. Especially if she carries on screaming quite so impressively when
“doing the dirty deed”.
That's
a dozen sets of people who have come and gone next door. In between some of
these, the house has been empty for over a year on two occasions. This last lot
lasted eighteen months next door to us… that’s probably average for our
neighbours. In the past, getting new neighbours has been a matter of great
trepidation for me; now I can’t help but wonder just how transient this lot
will be.
I took myself off to
bed; I managed four hours sleep, then lay awake for a while. Eventually I realized
I might as well use the time constructively so whilst the dogs snarled at the
window at nice-next-door who were *still*
moving out. The first time we moved house we did it ourselves; it was horrific.
The last time we moved we paid professional movers and it was *so* much easier.
As the dogs grumbled I
got the lawn mowed and then looked at the monthly accounts. Whilst I am far from
skint I just wish I had a *lot* more
money. Realistically I don’t need it. I just want it.
"er indoors TM" will be home
soon. The trouble with night shifts is that I don’t really sleep much during the
day and I get rather lonely. Perhaps if I was more chummy with the neighbours…
? I’ve met the new people – by an odd coincidence they have a jack russell and
a spaniel. We’ve got a jack Russell and half a spaniel.
As I said on Sunday 13
November 2016 “here’s hoping”.
