Sordid Wombat

Fuckwit and Lard Girl have been wandering around the street like fat encrusted Weebles - he's decked out in an ill-fitting tracksuit that looks like he's not changed it in about a month and she is wrapped up in more sheepskin than Ron Atkinson and John Motson put together, however, he's walking like he's shit himself and she has all the grace of a week dead walrus. They spend a lot of time over the road at the guy who lives next to the Sexually Explicit family. He's a pleasant enough bloke and if you talk to him you have to ask yourself why he's so friendly with this perfect example of ageing chavness has never been clear; but it could be that he's just a bit stupid.

The three of them are often seen standing around the street pontificating and acting like they own the place. I'm not the only person who sneers at them, there's this other old guy who lives just out of sight of my office window. He's lived in his house much longer than we've been here and he is a bit like me in that you rarely ever see him socialising with his neighbours - it's like he finds them as disturbingly entertaining as me.

Of all my neighbours Mr Misanthrope is the one I enjoy brief conversations with the most. It has only happened a handful of times in the last 10 years, but we appear to be on a similar wavelength. Last weekend, Fuckwit began to have wandering car syndrome again, after months of sticking to parking on his drive. He decided to park in front of Mr Misanthrope and his neighbours the West Indian Family and felt the full force of Mr M's wrath.

"Are you incapable of parking in front of your own house?!" he asked Fuckwit last Sunday afternoon. I didn't hear FW's response, but it was obviously obtuse enough for Mr M to go into one of his now famous rants. He had followed a cold caller down the road once, a couple of years ago, accusing him of lying and giving false information and telling him that if he knocked on any door in this street again he would tell the people just how misleading his sales pitch is. The cold caller represented Sky TV and Mr M obviously feels the same way about Rupert Murdock as I do. This event elevated Mr M into the high echelons of my respect and the Sky rep looked genuinely concerned as this hulk of a man, walking with the aid of a cane, charged up the road berating him and threatening him with all kinds of exposure.

Mr M shuffled around and spoke in clear and loud words. "I don't care if the Queen is visiting you, parking your car in front of someone's house when you have your own parking space is rude and irresponsible. Do you ever think about the hassle you're causing your neighbours?" Obviously Fuckwit didn't because his answer prompted Mr M to shout, "That's not a reason, that's just lazy. Please move your car or I'll park my car in front of your house for the rest of the year." Fuckwit trudged across the road, keys in hand, looking like he'd been reprimanded by his old headmaster. I noticed that both of our cars were parked in their usual places, proving once again that FW is incapable of parallel parking, even in his automatic Rover.

I then heard my roly-poly neighbour say, "I would have moved it eventually, there's no need to get the arse." This set Mr M off on one which included the insult 'you are just an ignorant buffoon' which elevated Mr M even higher in my esteem. Anyone who uses the word 'buffoon', especially to Fuckwit deserve the Noble Insult Prize.

Today, while the wife is out doing Christmas bollocks, watching FW, LG and the old man pointing and making jokey comments about Mr M, I realised that mankind has no future at all and by the end of this century we will have become a pointless stain on the planet. I could never be a Conservative, but I could become a fascist with a machine gun and wipe out this canker of society for the sake of the future, provided I'm offered immunity from prosecution.

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Fishwife and co have been remarkably quiet to the point that the wife pondered whether they'd stumbled across this blog and put two and two together and were purposely avoiding us. However, I pointed out that this has tended to happen every year as we hurtle towards Christmas; they spend more and more time round family and friends houses. In fact, Fishwife has been so anonymous recently I'm considering looking for the pod in his bottom shed...

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It's been a bit taters out there today, yet as the sun begins to set over the back of the gardens, I was again bewildered by something I see just about every year and then manage to forget to mention.

Looking through the skeleton of the apple tree with the sun beaming through the gaps, I could see tiny little flies buzzing around in the sunlight. These things appear just about every year and especially on sunny days in the coldest bits winter and I often wonder what they are, how long they actually live and what benefit they get from anything?

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Next time I'll tell you about how my past has returned to haunt me, how my local MP proved to be a twat after all and how the government can get arsey over £81.51 while Goldman Sachs manage to avoid paying £10,000,000 in owed taxes.