As I mentioned yesterday, I contacted the local nick and told them about the incident on Monday evening with that bloke who lives downstairs, forgotten his name… oh, yes. Cunt.
Surprisingly they viewed the incident with some concern and urged me to actually go to the local nick and make a statement. I was informed that being asked out for a fight is a ‘threat of assault’, which, along with all the fucking eyeballing makes complete sense. Despite the fact that last night I didn’t hear a peep out the little fuck all night (he was in btw) that the incident may have had some effect on the squidgy-skulled tool (perhaps my eyeballs were more ballsey than his, after all, it was he who shut the door on me) this morning I found myself inside a police station, a place I’d rather not be in, talking to a macho coppergirl about what happened. To my relief I was advised to fill out a form, as opposed to having to actually talk to police people, explaining what had occurred and so forth. I was then told that I’d be called to give a phone statement, and to impress upon the police person that calls that I wanted the incident recorded and no further action to be taken unless/until, it happens again. Really, it’s a question of covering ones bottom if things get out of hand, though I’m even more angry with Cunt then ever for putting me in this position in the first fucking place. Perhaps I should shove euthanasia literature through his door and get Myfwt to kindly advise him that really, it would be the best thing to do, you know, for all our sakes, but especially his, the miserable useless arse.
After a while, when I was sure that Cunt wasn’t going to start barking grunts over his out of tune strungs (yes, ‘strungs’) I had a pleasant evening, Myfwt joined me at 8.30, all full of beans because the dentist had put her tooth right back in place without any fuss, and then we actually had some beans, on toast, with cheese. And Worcester sauce (and a couple of glasses of Beaujolais and watched Ramsey).
The thing is, though, is now I feel on permanent tenterhooks in my own fucking flat, I don’t feel properly relaxed anymore, my ‘home’ doesn’t exist as it once did, actually, it hasn’t for a while so I am going to have to move. I mentioned moving a few months ago but this desire petered out due to a combination of laziness and my unwillingness to deal with all the financial shit that comes with it. The move will now happen, it will take a few months because it’s not something I want to rush into. In spite of Cunt the time is right I suppose, I’ve been there 5 years and I’m bored of the area, the flat and I really would like to have a garden in which to grow vegetables and bury bodies.
Guilty pleasure coming up, this bloke was able to sing in four octaves, he uses them all on this song, his best I think.