mice sauce

On the way to seeing Frank at the pub last night I got to use my brolly. It really wasn’t all I’d cracked it up to be, in fact, I felt a bit of tit. Due to the flooding which has resulted in homeless rodents it’s also hit the cellars of Sarf London preventing any beer from being available on draught. I find this wholly unacceptable and something should be done, I know a few people have drowned, thousands are in temporary accommodation and thousands more without basic utilities, but no beer, fuck off.

I got home and made supper, a pasta bake I knocked up in 15 mins and shoved it in the oven while I had a bath. I’d been in the bath for a minute when down below, Cunt kicked off. I’m now sure that he’s deliberately making unacceptable noise, this was worse than usual, with amplified screaming at 11 accompanied by, and I don’t exaggerate here, a handful of wrong notes on a totally out of tune guitar. I got out of the bath, dressed and went downstairs.

After banging on his door and yelling, he opened looking gormless, but clearly gormless and on some sort of medication. He instantly began apologising, I informed him that it was pointless to apologise if you didn’t mean it, and seeing as he knows it’s fucking pissing me off, the best way to apologise would be to NOT FUCKING DO IT.

He went back into his flat and I mine. An hour later there was a knock on my door. He was apologising again, apparently (not that I gave a fucking shit) he’d been asleep all day (that annoyed me though) and he was really sorry. And could he borrow some tobacco (what a cunt). He stood in front of me wearing a woolly fucking hat and holding an empty chipped cup in his paw like the begging scrounging little ponce he is. I looked down on him and thought of Uriah Heep, and suddenly I remembered the rodent.

Before getting some tobacco for its cunting face (this wasn’t an act of diplomacy, this was about control) I asked him if he’d seen any mice in his grief hole. His response almost caused me to vomit all over his head. When he began the sentence with, ‘they don’t bother me’ I knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Turns out there had been an infestation, that his pencil thin g/f and hairy little baby were actually living downstairs during the invasion. A baby, mice. No.

Clamping shut my jaw to disguise my utter disbelief and to prevent the puke in my throat from cutting Cunt off, I was then told how he and his spare-prick-at-a-wedding dad located the source of the bastards and filled the hole with ‘wood and concrete’. The two last words revolved around my head. How big was this fucking hole?

Cunt still had mice though, just not as many. So Cunt is responsible for the source of the rodents, in addition to poisoning my peace and quiet he’s now gunning for my peace of mind. I think I should get a crime reference number from the police, just to cover myself in case I lose my temper when I see him again.

Yes, I’ll do that. Police.

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