28th May
The weekend past brought us the all the joys of Summer.
Pasty, flabby British torso’s were on display. The youths of Queensway brought their girlfriends and their Joints to the park and 20 something year old couples made the rest of us feel slightly voyeuristic by “dry humping” in the center of a grassy patch. Yes my dears we had all but forgotten the joys that the summer sun doth bring.
But bad news was just around the corner.
Having not returned to my flat from Sunday to Wednesday I had missed out on a shattering tragedy.
I often write by my window, Laptop perched on sill like some sparrow preparing to take flight for the first time. This is due to it giving me the highest possible interwebby connection thingy and consequently gives me the most fantastic view into the flats opposite. I am no Peeping Tom by any means, but aye me there are some characters on my street that do, occasionally, deserve my full attention. Take for instance, Unemployed Slob. He sits in his chair all day eating tub after tub of ice cream and watching ITV 1 (this is good for me when Britain’s Got Talent is on but alas no sound) he seems to have no Job that i can tell of but has lots of ice cream. Maybe he’s an ice cream taster? He must be. Others include, Shouty Mum and Weepy Man Child. But by far my favorite of them all was Crazy Drug Dog Lady and it just so happened that her flat was directly opposite mine.
Close your eyes.
Imagine your craziest oldest female relative.
Give her long dreadlock hair.
Pull some dreadlocks out leaving a few bald patches.
Cover her eyes in Purple eye shadow.
Terrible Lipstick.
Long trench coat.
And a faded tie die shirt.
Have you an image?
You are most likely not even close to how utterly amazing this woman’s image was.
She had this lanky long haired grey Lurcher whose coat also seemed to be dreadlocked. Everyday at 4 o’clock she would walk her beast with such pride. I stumbled into her once on one of her many walks. I said hello as she walked past not expecting much of a response. She spun around, fire in her eyes, opened her blackened mouth to bear a gummy grimace and uttered the words “touch my fucking dog again and i’ll rip you apart”. Nice lady, i thought to myself as i sheepishly made my way back inside.
She would stay up until the wee hours, smoking something that definitely was in a pipe of some sorts and would make things out of card and hang them on her walls, paper chains, stars, that kind of thing.
Arriving home early Wednesday i noticed a skip outside her block of flats and men removing items of furniture through the ground floor door. Curious as to whether there were any gems for me to grab I asked the gentleman if I could take anything from the pile that was slowly building up on the street. “Urmmm yeah sure mate if you want to, i wouldn’t though” said the council man “why is that?” i inquired “well i dont know if i would want some dead persons shit in my house ya know?”. My heart sank as i looked up and saw a couch being lowered from Crazy Drug Dog Lady’s flat. “Did she die?” “Yes Mate” was the short response given to me.
I felt sad.
Yes she had been rude to me, but i felt a sort of connection with her. Maybe i could have helped her.
Maybe not.
The street has been quiet now since Wednesday. A sense of mourning has washed over it.
Thank you Crazy Drug Dog Lady.
I wish you luck.
x
