I remember the day me and my Charlie got us first house. Eeeeeee it were lovely. Nothing fancy, just a wee house, three bedrooms, front and back garden, shed, conservatory, ensuite bathroom in the master bedroom, y'know. We made do. You had to in them days, it was between two world wars and we were all that nervous of the second one kicking off.
I would have to say that over the years Chlorine Street has gone downhill. Not because of me and my Charlie, oh no. I'm still out to all hours scrubbing the steps with bleach till me hands bleed, but it's worth it. Oh the thought of someone thinking your front passage was dirty. So I'm always on me hands and knees scrubbing. Someone has to, now that Charlie's lost all control of his back entrance. Oooh he stinks to high heavens, and I'm talking shit here. The irony is, I can't do a movement for love nor money, and it's ooozing out of him all hours. He's ruined me lovely lino I had down in the kitchen, on account of expressing three pounds of excreta on it.
Anyway, so there's me trying to keep the street looking nice, and my neighbour Viv, she shouts over "Eileeen, you're doing a great job. Do you fancy a cuppa and I'll tell you all me news?". Now I know Viv is a two faced bitch whose kids were taken into care when she couldnt cope after the death of her parents in the eighties, it was an awful time. I had to call the social services, and I kept getting a shared line. I say I *had* to call the services, Viv still wonders who it was, but to frank I don't think it's my place to say it was me. I was just sick of those kids bouncing that ball outside my window, and that Satanic abuse was all the rage, so I just called and read some stuff from the paper.
So Viv calls me over, and mind you, she does make a nice cuppa, she does. I might not trust her as far as I could throw 'er, but I'll not have a thing said against Viv's tea, I always look forward to her tea, she makes a good cup she does. Mind you, her cups are blooming filthy, and that's swearing. Her house is dirty, not like mine, but I think Viv is what they call M-e-n-t-a-l N-e-e-d-s or something. I say that cos she's always smiling, and I never like people who always smile. It's what's behind the smile that I worry about.
So, I'm in Viv's house, and I have to admit, it's a darn sight cleaner than I remember. She's got one of the weird cleaner things, with the orange and the grey and the no bag. Talking of no bags, I ran out of George's collostamy bags the other day, I hope them Tesco shopping bags ones are as strong as they say. He burst on me last week all over the living room carpet. And I'm drinking this tea, and Viv tells me we have new neighbours. She said it in a funny way, like, 'I see we are honoured to have the privilege of some new neightbours' and I'm thinking has the queen moved to the street? That house she has now, up in the town must be awful big for her now that the kids have moved out, I worry about her and Philip rattling about in it in their dottage.
Apparently it's not the queen. Security concerns stop her from moving into our wee street. No, we are getting Gee---Ayyyy-Why---Esses.
They are called Ben and Tom, and they have been together for forty seven years. Forty Seven years. That's forty seven years of dung pushing, says my Fred. He's one to talk, he was a beggar for it during the war, but then we all where, it was all the rage and it took your mind of the sirens.
So I'm thinking, Ben and Tom, 47 years gone, how old are they? And she says they're mid 70s, and I'm now more worried than ever. These jee-aaay-why-esses are also famous for their spectacular immorality, and I don't want my wee street turned into a den of iniquity. We had enough of that in the sexually free sixties. But no, says Viv, these two are celibate now. They don't do ess-eeee-exxx. I bet they don't. Being jeee-aaaay-why is a cover story. And I manage to put two and two together.
Ben and Tom were the two Yanks who stayed in my house during the war when my Fred was off fighting the hun. Two big black men they were, like that one from that film. Each of them is built like two men and a wee lad, and I told them to treat this house like their own. And they did, in more ways than one. That was when I discovered DVDA. Why do you think my Evelyn and Delores are both black as the aces of spades? Now you know why.
And I work it all out. Ben and Tom have moved back into the street where they first discovered a real woman, and now that they both inevitably have aaaayds they want to see their kids for the first time.
Well I am sorry Ben and Tom, they're not about. I drowned them at birth. Don't tell anyone, will you?
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