Escape and Further Movement

Turns out that lying on your side, twisted round so that the laptop is resting right on your stomach is NOT a good way to blog. Too tired to move though.

Sequin cushion is digging into me too. I know, I know, ‘first world problems’… I just wish I had thought through my soft furnishings before purchasing them.

Perhaps this time I’ll do better… for I am moving house! I have a month left here in the house I share with one of my best friends and then I will be moving, ooh, at least 5 miles(!) to a nearby village where, for the first time ever, I will Live Alone. Daunting. Remind me not to watch any scary films – EVER.

It was time to go. All the signs were there: occasionally having to call the police about onstreet domestic violence had really lost its charm. As had the delightful sounds of a large family who liked to sit in their car and blast the loudest beating music you’ve ever heard – of course this was when they were not standing outside their house (they never shut the door) shouting about either A. Jesus and how one must love him or go to hell or B. Who smashed in who with a baseball bat and what to do as retaliation.

Personally I’d have trouble reconciling the loving Jesus and the baseball bat smashing but they seemed pretty chilled about it.

Crap, I nearly forgot my FAVOURITE NEIGHBOUR EVER: Mad Van. Man Van was a madman. He liked – no – he loved to park outside his house. Keep in mind that this is a row of terraced houses with nothing but a strip of pavement and then road outside the doors. No private parking; you take whatever gap there is when you arrive and you just accept that.

Not Mad Van. If he couldn’t park in the exact bit outside of his house (and he lined it up with a lamppost – seriously, 30 cm away would be WRONG and TOO FAR) he would employ a variety of tactics to get his own way.

1. He would just drive into your car – presumably hoping to shove it forward so he could fit. Sometimes this would be done on the way out so I guess that was just vengeance.

2. He would drop pins (or maybe push them in) next to your tyres so you would get a puncture.

3. He would print out his very own fake parking fine tickets and tuck them under people’s windscreens. They looked real from a distance but close up it was just sad, yellow paper with SCREAMING WORDS.

None of this is normal. Well, you don’t need me to tell you that. You may wonder why we didn’t report him to the police… the thing is, there was never any concrete evidence. Maybe that pin just fell there? Maybe someone else put the ticket on? Perhaps another driver clipped your car? We all knew it was him though.

Now I’ve written this I wish it led to up a glorious revenge… Oh how I wish…

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