The Widower has reared his head again.
I’ve managed to avoid a lot of his calls by simply ignoring the phone – I have caller display. If you haven’t got it, get it. Veeeerrry useful.
(I’d like to issue a warning here. This post is going to involve an abundant use of the ‘f’ word. In previous posts where I’ve let off a bit of steam, I’ve restrained myself, but I’m not going to today. Yes, I know it's not big and it's not clever, but I don't care.
If you are of a sensitive nature, click away now. Go and Google raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens or something.)
The Widower turned up unannounced the other afternoon.
Fucker.
He was in the area and wanted to check up on me (hot weather = less clothing = increased perving opportunities methinks).
Fucker.
Apparently, he promised Significant Other he’d ‘keep an eye on me’.
Lying fucker.
He wanted a progress report.
Oh fuck off.
“Any inroads made in the garage?”
Yes, I have been in the garage, you fucking irritating bastard.
“I see you still have the vans. Any movement on those?”
There will be - they're going to get shoved right up your fucking arse.
“What about the sheds?”
If there’s room, the contents of the sheds can go up there too.
“It’s important not to shut yourself away”.
How many times do I have to say it? I haven’t fucking shut myself away, you fucking moron.
“Do you get out much?”
Yes I do, and that would come under ‘I haven’t shut myself away’ you fucking dozy pillock.
“New Lady stays with friends for a few days occasionally. When she’s away, I’ll give you a ring and I’ll treat you to lunch.”
I don’t fucking think so.
“Are you keeping yourself occupied?”
Yes, I occupy myself by thinking of how many ways there are to get you to fuck right off.
“And what about company? You must get lonely.”
What the fuck has it got to do with you? Fuck off and mind your own business.
“You must miss… hugs.”
Billy Connolly will express my sentiments at this point:
And off he will fuck indeed.
I went up to Derbyshire on Sunday, and while at Chatsworth House I bought a book – The Most Amazing Places To Visit In Britain - the 1000 most unusual, beautiful and captivating spots in Britain (their words, not mine).
Only I would go and buy a book that has nothing to do with the place I visited.
Much like going to Bakewell, home of the Bakewell Tart, going to the Bakewell Pudding Factory and ordering a slice of coffee and walnut cake. I really don’t know what I was thinking – I love Bakewell Tart. And I didn’t have any, or buy any to bring home. What a twat.
Also like being in Bakewell, going into one of the gift shops and coming out with a fridge magnet which is not in any way, shape or form relative to Bakewell. Once again, my inner moron took over.
Anyway, back to my book. I only gave it a cursory flick through before I paid for it. Had I have seen one of the places they’ve recommended before I’d parted with my cash, I think I’d have replaced the book back on the shelf, and bought another irrelevant-to-the-place fridge magnet and a slice of carrot cake instead.
This particular recommended ‘most amazing place’ has now made me doubt their judgement about the majority of the other places they’ve included.
The only explanation I can come up with for the inclusion of this place, is that the researchers got up to 999 places then developed Unusual, Beautiful and Captivating Fatigue. They’d had it. They were just too weary to go and find the thousandth place. So out of desperation and because they were probably up against a deadline, they included…
I can’t do it.
I don’t want to type it.
It’s just wrong.
You can’t make me.
I need wine.
Forget that, make it a large single malt.
[swig of malt]
Okay.
Here Goes.
The place included is...
[deep breath]
[another swig]
It’s...
[wail]
Southend Pier.
They have got to be kidding.
In the introduction of the book it says, and I quote, “…we have found 1000 amazing places where you may see or learn something to make your jaw drop.”
Oh yeah, Southend Pier’s inclusion made my jaw drop alright, and not in a good way.
The description in the book says, “The Pier is a breathtaking spectacle at first sight…”
Breathtaking? I really don’t think so. Whoever wrote that should be done for gross misrepresentation.
Once again I quote, “In spite of enormous changes in holiday habits, Southend Pier remains a magnet.”
What - like shit sticks to a blanket?
I’ve a good mind to write to them and tell them if they think Southend Pier is worthy enough to be included, then so is my front garden - they could, and should, include it in future revisions of the book.
I do not claim my front garden to be beautiful or captivating, but it could take one’s breath away.
My front garden currently boasts:
two vans (one with a broken window – visitors can marvel at the way the glass is hanging on in there, and for a few pence can take a small piece of glass home as a souvenir – I’ll even bubble wrap it);
two motorbikes (although SORNed, they could be rigged up to provide a fairground-type ride – hah! Southend Pier doesn’t offer that);
scaffold poles (could be used for ride – see above);
a ten foot long steel lintel (good for the kiddies, test their balancing skills);
an old garage door (could be propped up and used as a graffiti wall – byo spray cans);
a couple of nearly empty bulk bags – one with ballast in it (good for an archaeological dig – “ooh look mum, I found a pebble!”), the other with gawd knows what in it (I’m not looking – there’ll probably be all sorts of nasties in there – but excellent for a minibeast hunt);
a cement mixer (three possible uses: 1. another ride for small children (under adult supervision), making sure they haven't eaten before getting in - otherwise they'll puke; 2. a polisher for any pebbles found during archaeological digs of the bulk bag; 3. if puke is present, bung in pebbles to create Polished Pukey Pebbles™©).
Running next to my front garden is a ditch – which during the summer months tends to be dry – so I feel this would provide opportunities for a bit of a trek. During the winter, after prolonged heavy rain, white water rafting could be a possibility.
If visitors want to feel the fear, instead of looking down between the planks on the pier to see water below them, for a small fee, I’d open the door to the garage to show them the heap of shite that’s in there. That’s real fear.
At the moment there is also an added feature:
A bird appears to have spontaneously exploded – this provides a chance for any forensics amateurs to hone their skills.*
*Disclaimer: I (The Management) cannot guarantee this attraction will always be available – it depends on the local cats.
If the compilers of the book genuinely think Southend Pier ought to be included (and they obviously do because it’s in there) then, as I typed earlier, on that basis, I seriously think my front garden should be in there too.
In future when visiting any places of interest, I will give myself a good talking to, take firm control and buy something relevant to where I am.
Southend Pier, my arse.
It is official, I am pissed off.
The reason for my pissed offness is because during the night, some tosser has smashed a window in one of the vans I own by default, parked next to my garage. Not because they wanted to break in and nick stuff, but just because they felt like it, it would seem. Not only that, because of the position of where I live and where the van is parked, the asshole had to come down here specifically to do it.
The van was bought before we moved here to act as extra storage space for a load of Significant Other’s workshop contents, as there was no shed/workshop here. Extra storage was needed because the garage here was (and still is) full to bursting with more of his workshop and our house stuff.
Unfortunately Significant Other was too ill to make any use of the shed we had built, so it’s since been down to me to sort through all the items in the van and move them into the shed, which luckily, I did some weeks ago, in another moment of being naffed off.
Since emptying the van (which has to be scrapped), I’ve been using it to store scrap metal I’ve come across in the course of sorting through Significant Other’s shite useful stuff, which is how I know the lowlife who broke the window, didn’t do it with the aim of stealing anything.
Let me make something clear here, Significant Other was the love of my life. But man did he collect some crap during his lifetime. Crap that would ‘come in useful one day’. Crap that I now have to wade through and decide that no, actually, I’m not going to find seemingly endless amounts of spark plugs useful one day, nor what seems like hundreds of screwdrivers or even more than several socket sets. And that’s just a drop in the ocean. For the most part, I’m going through it all in fits and starts, as and when I feel up to it.
I am at my most productive when in a stinking mood and it’s better than taking it out on my nearest and dearest. That’s a little difficult to do these days at Empty Nest Towers, what with Significant Other no doubt applying liberal amounts of WD40 to anything that moves on the Other Side, Eldest Daughter unwittingly decimating the kangaroo population Down Under, and Youngest Daughter doing her level best to drink Majorca dry. That just leaves Grumpy and Dopey, but I can’t get a decent argument out of them, they just bugger off, curl up and go to sleep. Oh to be a cat. On second thought, maybe not, cats lick their arses.
I can ruthlessly clean a house from top to bottom in less time than it takes to cook a roast dinner when in the depths of a foul state of mind, but I much prefer being constructively destructive. Today it was the grass, front and back, that took the brunt of my ire. It was a daisy massacre - shame, as I like daisies. Oh well, they’ll be back.
With a very large dose of help from my parents today (who were in a good mood), part of the garden at the side of the house is also now beginning to reappear; amongst other things, ripping up a load of ivy that has been allowed to spread unchecked. Actually, calling it garden at the moment is stretching the imagination a tad too far - shit heap would be much more fitting. Steptoe’s Yard would appear immaculate in comparison.
However, as well as feeling mightily pissed off, I’m also feeling, for the first time really since Significant Other died, quite vulnerable. I find it extremely unnerving that someone has walked into my front garden and committed an act of vandalism yards from my house. This evening I keep leaving my computer to check all the doors and windows are secure.
Rightly or wrongly, to try and give myself a certain amount of peace of mind, I’ve found a Crocodile Dundee type knife that Significant Other owned and have placed it on the floor under my bed.
Perhaps not everything is crap after all.
