Friday, March 27, 2009


In all my years living with my folks, I don't think I ever heard the people in the flat above having a row. Possibly something to do with the previous occupant of the flat being an elderly woman of the devout Catholic persuasion. Even when her hubby was alive and she had family staying, they remained obstinately neighbourly, quiet and, of course, devout.
It is, therefore, rather disconcerting to come into my parents house and feel almost a part of the raging torment that was going on above my head. I was up at the folks place to water the plants while they were on holiday, an operation that should have taken about five minutes. Instead, I was there for about half an hour, wandering with morbid fascination from room to room, as the acrimony raged back and forth.
Actually, I only heard one person. A slightly shrill male voice, beseeching his beloved to believe that he had no control over who called, texted or emailed him, and that it 'wasn't his fault'. The female voice was either inaudible or just barely distinguishable. The chap, on the other hand raged like a man pleading for his life. I came to the conclusion that he was either dicking his ex, or his girlfriend was a paranoid loon.
Much as it entertained me, I'm glad the folks weren't about, as the old fella would probably have gone up and offered to hand the guy his balls if he didn't shut his fucking noise.
Blood is a right bitch to get out of a nice new carpet.

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