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Going… going…

Got this mail from Dean, who owns the house next door:

“I thought I’d let you know, I have officially requested that the tenancy
agreement for No.17 not to be extended. I’ve been told that they will be
leaving within 2 months.

That’s before I heard about the Police visit!

Sorry again for the trouble it’s caused, I will be selling as soon as
it’s empty.”

So – relief, in the first instance. Then infuriation, then mystery.

Relief: the cunt’s going. Thank FUCK.

Infuriation: why couldn’t Dean have terminated the agreement earlier? Like a year ago? Hence I’m not that really appeased by the apology. If he was that concerned, the matter could (and should) have been nipped inthe bud a long time ago.

Mystery: what police visit? I had them round to see him at least once maybe a year ago, but I’m not awar eof anything since then. I’ve asked Dean and I’m interested in the reply.

Oh, speaking to Steve a while ago it turns out that the neighbour backing onto cuntboy had been around. He was asking Steve if he knew about the noise and so on. Since I moved out, it’s got worse and has been louder, longer and more frequent at all hours of the day and night. And he’s been chucking his beer cans and stuff over the fence into the guy’s garden.

Needless to say, said chap popping round made no difference. Well, the cunt’s gone soon. I only have the deepest sympathies for whatever poor bastards he ends up next to when he moves. I hope they turn out to be bikers with a short temper and a large collection of power tools.

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