Yes, I believe we WILL take your freedom.

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.