Neighbours From Hell

May 12th 2006

Actually I don’t yet know if our next-door-but-one neighbours the Pollitts, who moved in yesterday, are neighbours from hell, but early indications are that you wouldn’t bet against it. They arrived in an old off road vehicle, the transport of choice of neighbours from hell, which is a good pointer.

There are five Pollitts in all, if you don’t count the baby, and Mr and Mrs Pollitt obviously don’t as they left it crying for the entire four hours it took for them to move in, after first securing it to an ornamental stone bird bath on the front lawn.

I don’t know any of their names at the time of writing, except for the dog, which is called You Twat, if Mr Pollitt’s instruction to it to ‘Get from under the fucking feet You Twat,’ and his daughter’s ‘Get off my leg You Twat’ are anything to go by.

Mr Pollitt’s low forehead gives him a distinctly Neanderthal appearance. Low foreheads invariably indicate low intelligence whereas  high foreheads indicate high intelligence, and although Ant of Ant and Dec disproves the latter theory I suspect that in Mr Pollitt’s case the maxim will stand up to investigation.

Mrs Pollitt can be best described as a cross between Janice Battersby of Coronation Street and a pit bull terrier, but nowhere near as refined. She was wearing a sort of pink babygro, multi-coloured Wellington boots and, most of the time, a face like a smacked arse.

The boy is about fourteen, that magical age when a teenager goes from knowing hardly anything at all to knowing absolutely everything. He has no visible skin on his face so far as I could tell, the spaces between his acne being taken up by a collection of rings and metal studs.

The girl, probably a year younger, is at the age when a girl’s periods arrive, along with a large helping of attitude. Her general demeanour indicated that she had recently taken delivery of both of these attributes, the latter in spades. She wore a crop top with the words ‘Too Drunk to Fuck’ written on the back.

The dog, You Twat, is of indeterminate ancestry. It certainly has some collie in it, although what was in the collie, or what the collie was in, is unclear, possibly an Old English sheepdog or an Irish wolfhound. It is a sort of muddy grey, or mud and grey, its fur matted, and has two dreadlocks hanging down each side of its head.

Of the six of them the dog looks by some way to be the most intelligent, but as even the most intelligent dog in the world would be incapable of fashioning its own dreadlocks it is obvious that one of the Pollitts must have plaited them into its fur. And if they’re capable of that what else are they capable of? I shudder to think. But I’ll no doubt be finding out soon enough.