Never a truer word spoke. (Or is it spoken? Your narrator is a little tipsy).
So I am tired. And when one is tired of the Grey Toon? One is tired of life. Actually that is nonsense. And anyway, I'm not that kind of tired. Once more I am tired due to lack of sleep. And why? I hear you ask?
Well, because I was awakened at 6am this morning by a bit of HIGH DRAMA. Not brought to us by my neighbours, the hoors, this time. But by two brothers. One called Kevin. The other who had no name, but liked to shout "You F**ker!" "You f**king Faggot!" This would be quite unfair, only Kevin was quite happy to counterattack this with "You F**king C**t!" He did this quite a bit actually, did our Kevin...
I tried to roll over and go back to sleep. (Well, a girl has to keep her appointment with the beautician at 10am you know... Can't let hairs grow just because our neighbours are having a little domestic drama!)
So after the usual head over pillow, toss, turn, fingers in ears, head back on pillow, stare at the ceiling nonsense, I gave up and listened.
It seems that these two brothers had just come back after a night's carousing (or "getting shitfaced" as it's known in the Grey Toon) (amongst many other terms. We Scots specialise in words for being drunk... Just like the Eskimos have umpteen words for snow) and brother one (the sweary one) had discovered that Kevin was GAY.
Yes. Our Kevin had come out. And rather than have a nice wee chat over a cup of tea in their mum's front room, they'd chosen to take the issue out into the street. Next to my new car, I may point out, but that's the only starring role my property has in this tale. So they fought. Physically. I could hear the grunts and stuff and for once it wasn't from two floors below... They shouted at eachother, someone called Claire was mentioned and there was many an anguished bellow.
Eventually, enter stage left (still in my mind at this point as I'd not yet succumbed to curtain twitching) Thoroughly Decent Mum. Thoroughly Decent Mum pleaded with them (in hushed tones and the purest polite voice) to please come into the house and deal with it there! "Please! Please, come on! Don't do this! You're waking people up!" But no. The "F**king C**t" and Kevin are still hard at it. I give up on sleep and consider this (like the rest of the curtain twitching neighbours, it seems) to be a bit of saturday morning free entertainment.
"Kevinnnnnnn! Yer A F**KING FAGGOT!" Yells the "F**king C**t" from his prone position on the street (or "pavement" for you Americans)
Kevin minces up the street.
Thoroughly Decent Mum, by now is kneeling over her son who is drunk and bleeding in the middle of the road. She is wearing a black dressing gown with a pretty picture of a butterfly, her hair is immaculate and bobbed. She looks genuinely distressed. And there before me... (and my new car which now has a bloody footprint on it) she brushes her son's forehead and raises her arms and her eyes to heaven and cries "Kevvinnnnnnn! Loooooook what ye've donnnnneeeeee!"
Kevin continues mincing off into the distance, wiping a tear from his eye (probably)
Reasons to throw out my telly and forget my TV licence?
I think so...
(There was more... staring Kevin, a mobile phone, the Thoroughly Decent Mum and "Claire" (some bird on the other end of the phone") and then an epilogue involving the beautician and a policeman, but seeing as how I have a habit of pleading for films to end JUST THERE (e.g. Revenge of the Sith, Return of the King, A.I.) I won't spoil the dramatic effect by telling you any more. Suffice to say I now feel (quite happily) that there is no better drama than the ones going on outside my front door.)