Friday, 1 May 2009

Love Thy Neighbour...

As our other reader may be aware, I live in a large village in the heart of Cheshire. I believe, a few years ago, the local County Council voted to re-term it as a 'town', but the residents kicked up such a fuss (probably something to do with taxes), that the idea was shelved and 'village' it remains. It's an eclectic mix of demographics. At both ends of the village are the Knobs' Hills - enormous country piles; thatched cottages; elegant 1930s townhouses - and then in the middle, there are two rambling 1950s housing estates, built by the Council, for the large chemical works, ICI, which has since closed down. Workers were given the chance to buy their houses, and many of them did, only to sell them on later. I live in one such house - it was owned by a Mr John Langley, an original ICI worker, who bought the property for £5000, raised a son, and died here a few years ago. A builder then bought the place, ripped its guts out, did it up, and I toddled along, made him an offer and moved in six weeks later.

This housing estate's roads and closes are all named after trees. For example, there are Walnut Avenue; Hazel Grove; Ash Grove; Rowan Road; Laburnum Close (which on the other side, reads 'Laburnam Close' - a schizophrenic Town & Country planner, obviously). And, thankfully, there are lots of trees about, which is always a delight to me, although not to Mr P who suffers terribly with hay fever, and whose eyes look like pickled eggs in the summer months. The houses range from those designated for the elderly to townhouses to semis (such as ours) and a few detached. Due to the wildly varying prices, there are people from all walks of life living around here.

To the rear of our property is a row of shops. I have mentioned the colourful characters in the past, but it never ceases to amaze me who you can bump into over there (not Jonny Depp, most unfortunately...). On Wednesday, I visited the Post Office to withdraw some money. As usual, there was a queue of blue-rinsers who fumble with surprise into their bags once they reach the window, as if they are shocked to find themselves there and have suddenly forgotten what on earth they have come for...

As I stood patiently, a young 'lady' (and I use that term very loosely) entered the shop pushing a buggy containing a snot-nosed baby, and dragging a 7-year old boy and toddler. I knew she was coming to the post office because I heard her telling her child a mile away. She stopped traffic. She was the inspiration for the Fog Horn. She genuinely was not shouting at her children; she simply yelled instead of talking. 

Everyone in the shop stopped, aghast, at the noise which emenated from her vocal cords. My ears started to bleed and I got a fit of uncontrollable giggles. To try to stem my hilarity, I stared at the CCTV cameras and attempted to look as though I was about to stage a stick-up, imagining the hurly-burly of Cheshire Constabulary coming to take me away...It didn't work. I had to cross my legs as I thought I might wet myself. The faces of the other customers were pictures.

As I arrived at the window, the female teller rolled her eyes at me and shook her head sadly. She asked me for my request and I waggled a finger in my ear, and asked her to speak up as I had gone a bit deaf...By this stage, the woman had left the shop (and an audible vacuum). Had she still been there, I wouldn't have cracked this joke, as she was a big bruiser and would have snapped me in two. I quite like the arrangement of my body as it is, to be frank.

I got my money and then moved to the shop counter to purchase my cigarettes. An old bloke was in front of me, spending his pension on Lucky Dips, Thunderballs and Scratch Cards. He was taking forever, but he ponged of Famous Grouse, so perhaps he was just half-cut. Suddenly, the 7-year old boy returned, barrelling down the shop to the counter, picked up a Twirl and waited to be served. He was only there for about ten seconds when his mother 'said' from the door.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I'M GERRIN' SERVED!"

"WELL 'URRY UP, COS I'M BURSTIN' FER A WEE!!"

Mmm. Nice. I was thrilled to have been treated to that gem of information. At least it was a Number One. I shuddered to think what she might have divulged had her bowels been moving at that point...

There was a tangible sigh of relief went around the other customers as she left the premises. Half an hour later, as she arrived at home, a mile away, I heard her exclaim, "AAH! F*CKIN' 'ELL, THAT'S BETTER..."


6 comments:

Karen ^..^ said...

LOL!!! We have that sort here... they are called "rednecks". Lordy.

And a nice bit of information on your town, or whatever they are labeling it these days. Sounds very nice. Have a great weekend, doll!

Have I mentioned that it's wonderful to see you back?

Lissy said...

i'm still scratching my head(that doesn't sound good. good thing i'm not a guy - as i respond to your last post) over that CMEN. i'm sure it's going to haunt me. i'm going home to kiss my Lancome. i used to think THAT was expensive.

see, i'm obsessed. i was just thinking that the lady in the post office sounds like she'd use the CMEN!

Linda and her Twaddle said...

Honestly, some people should be tested for suitability to parent.

I had my car at the supermarket and as I drove ever so slowly out, an unattended toddler ran in front of me. Thankfully I stopped and he was unharmed. However, the mother, rather than comfort her son when she caught up with him, slapped him across the head and shouted "what where ya going you f....g shit".

Personally, I think he was hoping I would end his misery by running over him.

Media Junkie said...

i think she'd be lovely for the town - oops village - crier.

Annie T said...

Karen: We have a plethora of names for people like this, ranging from 'dole scum' to 'pikies' to 'chavs' to 'knuckle draggers' to 'slopes'...and that's just the start of the list...

No, you didn't mention it was good to see me back. Keep saying it. Go on! Purlease?!

Lissy: Give me Lancome any day, too. It smells so much nicer. I cannot understand why anyone would want to blather their face in what smells like microwaved mushrooms. The mind boggles!

Linda: I wish there was a sterilisation programme in action around here. It'd stop the insidious spread of chavdom. Oh heck, I'm starting to sound like Hitler's daughter now...

Media: Very good! An excellent observation. I think it'd be the Town Yeller, though. Ironically, we have a newspaper in the UK called the Yeller. Because it is Yellow. Oh dear...

A cheshire builder said...

Unfortunately however pretty you make a place you can't control who moves in to it!