Archive for June, 2009

An open letter to my neighbour.

June 29, 2009

Dear Neighbour,

I completely understand that, as a responsible parent, you do not wish your offspring to be  wobbling, wheezing, truly foul specimins of the country’s child obesity problem. What I don’t get is why you persist on locking them in the 6×4 concreted area that masquerades as your garden, to stand facing the closed back door and scream like banshees for what feels like hours on end, when they clearly don’t want to be there.

They’re driving me mad.

Please desist, or I will be forced to erect a banner outside your property stating that Father Christmas doesn’t exist. At least then the little shitbags will actually have a reason to be upset.

Yours Sincerely



So, where are you from?

June 28, 2009

Asked Nell, the old lady in the diagonally opposite hosipital bed.

I answered; one word, name of town.

‘I meant originally’ she said, barely hiding her disdain.

‘Kent’ I replied, and tried to return to my crossword.

‘No, BEFORE that’ barked a now visibly irritated Nell.

‘Inside my Mum?’ I enquired, putting down my crossword, knowing this wasn’t going to be then end of it.

Nell sighed, annoyed at having to start her line of questioning again.

‘So’ She said, slowing her speech, just to make sure I understood the question. ‘Where.. is.. your.. Mum.. from?’

‘Ilkley.’  I replied. ‘And my Dad is Welsh.’  pre-empting question 5 (out of a possible 20, perhaps?)

Nell looked pleased. ‘Told you she was foreign’ She informed Margaret.

Margeret wasn’t listening. She was trying to remember whether it was 1988 or 1989 (It was neither).

I’ve just spent 6 days incarcerated in the lovingly and thoughfully named Ward B3

June 24, 2009

The only company I’ve had has been 3 pensioners: A special clan consisting of a woman with a sore foot who professed a hatred for foreigners and foreign food (muck, as she put it), before opting for lasagne for tea (you know, lasagne, that classic British dish), a woman with far too many ailments to mention, but that she liked to remind you of every 10 minutes, and a woman convinced it’s 1989 thanks to a head injury.

AND I kept dreaming that Justin Lee Collins was trying to kill me.

It was awful. Truly awful.

I said, ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

June 13, 2009

He said, ‘No, but how about a verse and chorus from Copacabana?’

To my shame, I didn’t burst into song. Bang goes my customer service award.