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| image courtesy of google |
Monday nights in this crumbling grey town are usually the sleepiest of them all, as far as drunks and dramas are concerned. Then why was it that I was awoken at 2.30am last Tuesday morning by the presence of a roaring, drug-addled maniac outside my house?
His sheer vocal noise I can only describe as sounding a little like 'Braveheart': That is, if William Wallace smoked crack and worshipped the devil. This yelling went on non-stop for about 40 minutes and I realised- as I lay sweating in my jammies and poised to jump out of bed- that this nutcase wasn't going anywhere. Usually the drunken singing, swearing and smorgasboard of dole-fuelled dramas pass by our house late at night, but even if they pause for a couple of minutes nearby, they eventually walk on and fade into the darkness. So I grabbed the phone, crept downstairs into the kitchen and clapped eyes on the back of Mr Nutjob's head through the blinds. This scene seemed all the more creepy as his menacing outline was lit by the soft orange lamps lining the square outside. There he was at the side of Lily's house, facing her open bin cupboard and singing in raspy, evil gibberish. All of our wheelie bins had been kicked over and lay on their sides around him. On his mission to destroy, he staggered back past our neighbours house, put the boot into their bins too and tried the handle of their front door. All of a sudden I felt sick to my stomach...
I called the police in utter panic and waited in the darkness, peering through the blinds, shaking and praying they would hurry the fuck up. A drunk and disorderly call? In this town? Surely they would all laugh and go back to their donuts. After about 5 minutes all was quiet, so I assumed he had gone. After about 15 minutes there was a knock at the door. Well, my heart nearly stopped. The nice policeman informed me that the guy was actually still there when they arrived and that they caught him starting a small fire in said bin cupboard. Which is where Lily's central heating gas pipe is (Mr Nutbag, criminal genius). So the police had to call the fire brigade, who needed to check inside Lily's house and make sure there was no interior damage (of course being deaf, she slept soundly through the whole thing).
So I now hope that the only buzz ole Braveheart can look forward to in the near future is the one he'll get from the forthcoming charge of culpable and reckless conduct. Then maybe we can all get some sleep.
Lily and I were due at the doctor's at 9.15am this morning. As I was due to push the "old yin" in the wheelchair I calculated a 15 minute or so walk (some of it uphill) from her house to the doctors. I arrived at Lily's at 8.45 as planned, to find Mrs. Faff still in her nightie, on her way to the bathroom following her morning fag. And I wonder where her son gets it from. Anyway I called the surgery to say we were running late due to "technical difficulties" and they just laughed and said it was fine.
Finally arriving 10 minutes late for our appointment, the receptionist (obviously a different one) glared at me when I checked in. Luckily "nice receptionist" came to my rescue and we were called into the nurses room straight away. There are about three "nurses rooms," so of course I wheeled Lily into the wrong one, inside which two fat ugly nurses were deep in conversation about, I don't know, what they were having for lunch. They turned to me with utter disdain and fat ugly nurse no.1 barked, "sorry but I think you're in the wrong room." I said nothing, but with great difficulty attempted to back the chair (twice) out of the room, trying not to knock over silver trays and urine samples as I went. These two individuals sat on their arses and watched me and Lily struggle, my hands on the wheelchair and Lily's frail hands pushing the swinging door with all of her 79 year-old might. Finally back in the hallway I barked "thanks for your help, ladies" and slammed the door. Why is it I often feel like Erin Brokovich on a bad day with these people?
So we found our way to the right nurse, who was lovely. She took Lily's blood pressure and blood sample and after about 5 minues we were finished. Would you believe we even had the door held for us on the way out?
Oh, wheelchair life... We took our time on the way back, as my palms were red and sore from the frantic walk up. It's funny how pushing a mere 8-stone person up a slight incline can knacker you. Oh, and you have to beware of dogs too - my poor charge almost got pounced on by a black woolly mammoth on the way home. No doubt the pup had nothing but love in it's heart, but what seemed cute to me must have been terrifying to someone strapped to a moving vehicle saying 'hello' at eye level.
