Oh for ****’s sake

After several weeks with nothing to report (oh, bliss)…

****-knocker next door got a dog a while ago. I gave it a couple of weeks to make sure it wasn’t just being looked after (I hate him, but I like dogs) then mentioned it to Dean, the guy who owns the house. I know Dean, and I know how house-proud he is… and I’d have been amazed if he’d have allowed it.

He didn’t.

It turns out it was her mum’s and they’d just dumped it on them while they went on holiday. Erm, yeah. Never heard of boarding kennels?

Anyway. A little blip and me just keeping an eye on Dean’s house as requested.

Tonight, I got home from work. The stereo was on full clip, but they were sat outside and the bass was low. As a result, it genuinely didn’t bother me that much. It was pleasant enough, so why not?

I popped into the kitchen, dropped some stuff off. All looked fine.

Back into the kitchen five minutes later and I spot the in the intervening time, my bird bath had been knocked over. Now, this thing’s ******* heavy. It didn’t blow over in the wind, a cat didn’t tip it by jumping on it and a dog didn’t brush against it (well, nothing short of a St Bernard). The fact that the basin was over in one direction while the stand was in another tells me that the former had been flipped off before the latter was shoved over.

As I was pondering this, a random chav wandered into my garden, lifted his shirt and started to fiddle with his flies. Then he saw me in the window, made an “I’ve been caught” face and ran back next door.

So I rang the neighbour’s parents. This time I got his dad. Despite his sarky comment about not being able to see the bird bath due to the grass being so long (cheeky ****** – it’s unkempt but not two ******* feet) I did get through to him when I mention someone was trying to piss in my garden.

A minute later I overheard fucknut’s half of the conversation as his dad rang him. Surprise, it was full of “I don’t know what he’s talking about” and “no – nobody’s been in his garden” and other utter bullshit.

Then the conversation started. The “if he comes outside I’ll batter him” stuff, followed by “you know what he’s like” and so forth. I also heard “he saw you piss in his garden” followed by “I didn’t piss there – I pissed there“. I couldn’t see where, though, as I was earwigging and ont being blatant.

Surprise, the person who came and put my birdbath together was a very slight female, not one of the blokes who was there. They’re all the ******* same these chav *****. Won’t life a ******* finger.

Quarter of an hour later and I got a knock at the door. It was the kid’s dad. Frankly, I’d not **** with him. Pleasant enough, don’t get me wrong, but if he was my dad I’d not cross him. He was a lot more forthcoming in person, but we didn’t get to deal with “Robert” as he’d “gone to bed”, leaving two of his mates and their baby outside.

The lass was worried that our talking might wake her sick baby up – funny how the stupidly loud stereo earlier wasn’t a concern. I’d also say that judging by the colour of her teeth she should have stopped smoking 40 a day during pregnancy if she was bothered about having a sick kid.

The chav lad who was sat there said they’d seen nothing, and I’m pretty certain it wasn’t him who was going to piss in my garden. He could have been telling the truth as there was definitely someone else around earlier and I’m fairly certain it wasn’t him.

I did notice a wet patch by my door on the way in. I may investigate later as I don’t normally get a puddle there…

Now. I’ve informed Dean, but do I bother with the letting agency again? Because, frankly, they’ve done **** all when I’ve complained to them before.

Anyway. I’m going to get on with my coursework now that’s off my chest.

Honest.

You’ll also have to wait till tomorrow for the dead funny stuff I wrote at work. Don’t blame me – it’s that ***** next door’s fault.