So, her next doors.
She's called Bridey, a lovely woman she is. She'd do anything for anybody and always had a good word for everyone. That strikes me as odd. Remember I'm talking about Bridey next door on the left from my side, not about Sheila on the other side, cos she is on the other side now and I never talk ill for the dead. It was her son killed her apparently. Got his medication mixed up, and said he could hear voices telling him to "Finish her off". That was tragic, cos that was me talking to my Cecil. We'd invited Dolly from two doors down to visit and make sex.
Anyway, Bridey, she never says a bad word about anyone. In my book, there is something wrong with that. These goodey two shoes always have a dark secret and I am determined to find out. I'm always looking out for trouble, well in our street someone has too. We've got them other nationalities in and I am not a nationalist. No I am. No, racist. I am not a racist. But some of the neighbours don't even know what a knife and fork is. It's all this 'tear and share' stuff nowadays, and this is from Waitrose. Things came to a head when my great great grand daughter, she's only eighteen months god love her, well things came to a head when my great great great granddaughter, she's called Ashleeeeeeen, and she's such a sweetie. She's got my looks. She'll be a heartbreaker when she's older. Anyway, things came to a head.. where was I... what was I talking about? I can't remember for the life of me.
Anyway, that Bridey. Next door. I think she's in the IRA. I do. She's got the perfect cover. She works in the charity shop during the week and goes to the hospice at the weekend. She told me years ago that she never got over her miscarriage, but the charity work helps because she gets satisfaction from helping other people, but I don't think so. That's very suspect if you ask me. If you ask me, she's got a bomb factory in her basement. I'll go over there later and see what I find. She's going to counselling but I have a set of keys. I had to look after her house when she was on holiday once and I made a copy. She didn't need counselling in Greece for a fortnight! I think everyone should have a set of their next door neighbours keys. For safety. I'll go over after I've made Cecil his Complan, and I'll look for evidence.
If there's a sniff of a bomb in her basement, I'll be on the phone to the police like a shot. Mind you, I hope she has a stairlift. My hips can't cope with steep stairs.
I'll switch off now. Cecil is poking his penis at my cheek which means I'll have me hands full for an hour or two. Bad circulation, see.
1 comment:
Ethel,
It's me again. I've just woken up. Turns out I were asleep for four days. Woke up to the sound of me Grandson Shane hammerin on me door. He thought I'd passed over, you see. I tell you what though, I wished I had. It's better than waking up to the sound of the fruit of the loins of the fruit of your loins bangin on your front door with no respect for the paintwork.
It's lovely paintwork on me front door. It's still that coat of green paint what my George did at the beginning of the last war. I remember, they put out the message on the wireless that Hitler was frightened of the colour green. George also made me wear green knickers...and when I had that infection in me cludge, he wouldn't let me put cream on it. "That discharge is keeping Jerry at bay"...that's what he used to say. And he were right. Didn't work with the yanks though, did it?
Eeee....our Shane's givin me a right dirty look now. He's typin this for me again. He tried to learn me how to do it meself...he said that it "weren't appropriate" for him to be writin it. If you ask me, he's a workshy little tike who'd rather ave the butcher's cock up his arse than do an honest day's graftin. I told him...I've got spastic fingers. Besides which, I'll be dead soon (with any luck - Shane) and if he doesn't help me I'll make him dig the whole to put me in all by himself. 'Ere, talkin of which...do you mind that time in '42 when our Liz passed on...Churchill had put extra tax on funerals so we just stuck her in the garden. Some folk said it were morbid, but I didn't hear them scoffing the next year when we had the best crop of potatoes we'd ever seen. Actually, they was scoffing - our blimmin potatoes!
Anyway, I was talking about Dot. No I wasn't....I were talking about Countdown. That's right. No...I'd talked about that...no, hang on...I hadn't yet. I'm talking to you, Dot aren't I? Eh? What's that, Shane? Ethel? No, I don't like her. Oh, we're talking to her. Oh...that's right...yes...oh, you're a blessing you are, Shane.
Sorry Ethel, that useless poof of a Grandson got me all confused. I were tellin you about when I was asleep. Four days. Two whole hours of Countdown down the blimmin' drain. Mind you, it were a lovely dress rehearsal for when I do pass on. I even dreamt that I was in heaven. Big black men everywhere, spraying me with their juices like it weren't on ration any more. Talkin of which, Shane...where's me ration book? I've got enough left on it for a bag of Sherbert lemons. Eh? Ended when? 1954? Oh buggerin 'ell.
Anyway, it were such a lovely dream that I was sad when I woke up and noticed I were still alive. So I decided to just lay there and wait for the angels to take me. But then I thought I could sense a motion...and I didn't think that there'd be any toilets in heaven. Plenty of stairs, though...knowing my luck. And wogs.
So I went to the throne...but it were only blimmin' wind. Mind you, it were wind what had been up there a long time. I reckon it had been there since I had that boiled cabbage at Dot's funeral in '74. And do you know what? When it came out, it sounded like Dot's voice...calling to me from beyond the grave. I had a look down the pan, but she weren't there.
Mind you....I think I can feel something moving now. Yes, I definitely can. 'Ere, Shane... help me out of this chair before the whole of Hitler's cavalry falls out me arsehole. See you soon, Dot...no time for goodbyes - I'm already seeping.
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