The Boy Nik (Not The Boy Nick) Knocked And He’s Got Manky Teeth

15 Feb

The Boy Nik has lost the ‘c’ since the last time I saw him and he needs to lose the majority of his teeth as well, as he showed me. Not a pleasant sight, but that’s drug addiction for you. He had the number of an NHS emergency dentist but he wanted me to phone his Mum and give her the number so that she could make an appointment for him and then phone his mobile to tell him the details. He assured me that he wouldn’t be bothering me anymore because he was having a land line installed today and could he wash our car as a thank you? I declined his kind offer but I did appreciate it.

He puts me on the back foot because he always calls early, while I’m still in my dressing gown; and every time he apologises for getting me out of bed, which he never has, but I feel embarrassed just the same. I’m never sure if he is just going out or just coming in, but today he came between last night’s elderly neighbour, Mrs S, who called for her spare key because she had misplaced her own (again); and next door’s Mrs J who is really Mrs F but everyone in the family has a name beginning with J, plus the son-in-law and one grandchild. Only the husband escapes but his name begins with G so he’s almost one of them. Mrs J was looking for the Hub to fix her laptop, which took him ten minutes. She says we can never move because she needs him too much: she is always borrowing his tools and his expertise. She spends a lot of time on her own and she taps away at the walls at all hours of the day and night, doing we know not what. I think she might be building a secret extension into our living room.

It was Coronationside Square in Neighbourhood Central this morning because the phone rang as often as the door bell. At one point I looked like Taz the Tasmanian devil because I was just about to put the recycling in the bins outside the back door when the phone went; I had almost answered it when Nik knocked; and that was when I noticed the dog had upchucked and I wasn’t sure where to turn as I searched for somewhere to put down seven empty bottles, five tins and a partridge in a paper tree. However, rest assured, dear reader, that if there was a screaming baby I’d have seen to him first. Fortunately, the Hub was asleep.


I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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