Tag Archives: Neighbours

Joke 182 (ii)

22 Sep

This one came from Granny1947.

My neighbour knocked on my door at 2:30am this morning.  Can you believe that: 2:30am?

Luckily for him I was still up playing my bagpipes.

Pigs Might Cry

24 Jul

Somebody broke my neighbour’s pig.

About a month ago, a pig suddenly appeared outside his house, snuffling for truffles in the dirt. That’s what everyone thought on first sight, but it was actually a life-size pot pig. It was a popular feature and gave us all a good laugh to see our own astonishment mirrored on our visitors’ faces.

Last night, while we were sleeping, somebody broke it in half. Mean-spirited, but not at all surprising in this neighbourhood. The wonder is that it lasted as long as it did.

R.I.P. Pot Pig, in that great pig sty in the sky.

*

The pig story reminds me that I have written about pigs before: you can read my version of the three little pigs story here; and I wrote this years ago:

Pig Philosophy

I’m pink,
therefore I’m ham.

I thought I was being highly original at the time but in last week’s Quote…Unquote on Radio 4 I heard this version (spotted in a university toilet in the philosophy department):

I’m pink,
therefore I’m spam.

Guess there ain’t nuthin’ new under de sun.

*

Some interesting facts about pigs:

  • they are ranked as the fourth-most intelligent animal, after chimps, dolphins and elephants

  • they have 44 teeth

  • they can live for up to fifteen years

  • pigs can swim

  • they don’t sweat; that’s why they wallow in mud – to keep cool; it also acts as a sunscreen

  • in spite of the mud, they are extremely clean animals

  • they respond to their names when called

  • a pig’s scream can register as high as 115 decibels

  • the largest known pig was called Big Bill: five feet high; nine feet long…mmm…think of all that lovely bacon

  • the largest litter was 37 piglets…mmm…think of all that…

*

My favourite Dorothy Parker riposte:

Clare Boothe Luce and DP arrived at a doorway at the same time. CBL gestured for Dot to go first and said, ‘Age before beauty.’ Sweeping through the doorway Ms P replied, ‘Pearls before swine.’

*

Now I’ve made myself hungry. Pigs might fry.

Time For Kick-Off

13 Jun

It’s almost midnight and I’m supposed to be tucked up in bed, fast asleep; but my neighbours don’t want me to. Remember our seige a while back? We’ve just had the night version. I don’t have any photos for you this time, but I can give you an eyewitness account.

I was reading in bed when I suddenly heard screaming and I looked out of the window to see who I now know as thirteen-year old ‘Callum’ screaming at the flats opposite. I won’t bore you with the details – just take six teenagers, an England-US draw and some booze, throw in as many eff words as you can find, add one large family and assorted friends and neighbours, and you’ll get the idea. It all really kicked off, though, when Callum phoned his Dad to complain he’d been beaten up and Dad came tearing round in his car – which he abandoned in the middle of the street – and chased the lad who had touched his lad down the street.

It was about this point that I noticed a nosey woman in a ground floor flat opposite, watching the action from her open window. She was lucky not to get a brick through it: we’d already had the beatee kick a parked car and the beater urinate all over the same car until someone complained it was her friend’s car; that’s when the beater turned, water stick in hand, and continued his business in the road. That nosey woman really should know better than to let herself be seen by aggressive drunks – turn off the light like I do.

One family imploded, goading an elder sister who was trying to calm things down, encircling her in a rather frightening way, particularly given that they were all related. The police finally arrived at that moment, so the younger lads ran off to watch the Dad batter the beater of his son and then get arrested.

The head count was a little lower this time: only four police vehicles, two ambulances, four paramedics and eight cops. No guns, as far as I could see. The police stayed for about forty minutes, calming things down, warning some, cautioning others, and telling off my next door neighbour for interfering in police business when she came out in her nightie to complain that her grandchildren were trying to sleep.

Tempers finally cooled and the police and paramedics went off to tackle another bunch of volatile drunken England fans on another street just like ours elsewhere in the lovely town of Stockport. Some of the neighbours celebrated that no-one went to hospital or jail by cracking out the pear cider and Stella, and now a little party is taking place on the steps further up and some of the lads are yelling profanities at some of the mothers (not necessarily their own) and vice versa.

O, to be in England…not.

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.


Saint Knickerless

12 Dec

My elderly neighbour phoned in some distress yesterday, asking me to come over.  She had slipped on an icy pavement and lost her glasses.  After the required feel of the monster bump on her head, she sent me off in search of her specs.  It was early, so it was fortunate that I was even dressed.  Mrs S is an amazing woman: in her eighties, and having broken her hip a couple of years ago in another fall, she goes out every day, often first thing, and several times in one day at least three or four times a week.  It’s shopping and bingo and lunching and visiting, and she very often walks to wherever she’s going.  The Hub is quite envious of her stamina; and so am I, come to think of it.  Just yesterday, as a result of her accident, she had to cancel the hairdressers, lunch at the Salvation Army, a visit to her great-grandtwins and bingo night.

It was unusual for her to be upset because she’s a feisty little thing – and I say that with all due respect.  I have such respect for the elderly that I can’t call her by her first name despite her repeated requests.  Though I did almost laugh in her face once: she gave me her daughter’s details and when I heard her married name was Elizabeth Bennett I almost choked on my copy of Pride & Prejudice.  However, she has the extra ‘t’ so I am able to maintain my composure when I see her.

Anyway, off I went in search of Mrs S’s sight, wearing my old pink sweater, polka dot pants and bright blue slippers.  This is my default outfit: I wear old clothes at home, only changing into something nice when I go out.  I would have changed or at least covered up with a coat and trainers, but Mrs S was so upset I thought I’d better go straightaway and find them, which I did, lying forlornly on the pathway, prey to any hooligans who might have passed that way and stomped on them; luckily, it was too early for thugs to be out.  Thank goodness I didn’t have to spend too long looking, because halfway to the accident spot a twang informed me that my knicker elastic had just gone.  Has that ever happened to you?  It was my first time; though I did have a first cousin once-removed who yelled at me in a packed restaurant, ‘Oh no!  Your knickers are on the floor!’  She thought it a great joke that I not only looked for them in a panic, but that I was wearing trousers and sitting down, so I couldn’t have lost them if I tried.  We don’t talk to that side of the family any more.

The twang acted like a dose of adrenaline to my Friday morning sluggishness and I immediately opted for the thighs-in-knees-out shuffle over the hand-down-the-pants-in-a-manner-likely-to-get-me-arrested stroll; scuttled to the glasses locale; and then back to our street in less time than it takes to say This is a really embarrassing situation for me to be in.  Mrs S was chuffed to have her specs back and gave me my Christmas present early: a huge tin of expensive biscuits.  Just what I need – more knicker-busting food.

But you know what the really embarrassing part of it all is?  Having chatted to Mrs S for a while to make sure she wasn’t concussed and that she had called her son to let him know what had happened, I got home and decided to go for the paper.  It was only once I was halfway there that I realised I had forgotten to replace my underwear….

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