Meet The Pollitts

May 15th 2006

I’ve found out the names of our new next-door-but-one neighbours. Mr Pollitt is called Wayne. His wife is not called Waynetta, although she might well be, but Liz. The boy is Keanu. The girl is Catherine Zeta. The baby has been saddled with the name Nectarine. The dog is named Shane (although I will call it by the first name by which I first heard it addressed, You Twat, since it clearly is a twat.

Pollitt is probably from Manchester, his wife from London, the kids from Hell. I didn’t have to ask their names. They could be heard clearly by anyone within a half a mile of their back garden yesterday morning, even the deaf.

Mr Pollitt: “Liz, for fuck’s sake give Nectarine her fucking dummy.”

Mrs Pollitt: “I’m tryin’ to wean ‘er off it, ain’t I Wayne.”

Catherine Zeta Pollitt: “Keanu’s just fumped me again, Mum!”

Keanu Pollitt: “She was tickling the dog’s bollocks.”

Catherine Zeta Pollitt: “Shane likes ‘aving ‘is bollocks tickled.”

Mrs Pollitt: “All males do, Cafferine Zee-ah.”

Etcetera etcetera.
Mercifully they all went out in their yobmobile in the afternoon. Except for You Twat that is. He spent half the afternoon in the back garden, barking. He spent the other half howling.

I could see You Twat, tied to a clothes-line pole, from our back bedroom window. In an effort to shut him up I opened the window, took a small ornament I had never liked from the window bottom and threw it at him. My hope was that even if I missed You Twat he might take it as a warning and stop barking in case the next one hit him, or, if it hit him, it would at least give him something to bark and howl about. It landed about a yard away from him. He ate it. Or at least he attempted to eat it, before spitting it out in disgust. Then he carried on alternately barking and howling until the Pollitts returned.

If this sort of thing happens again something will have to be done about it.


  1. Hehehe! I’m sorry..I have to giggle because I have had neighbors like that in the past.

    Comment by Marsha — May 16, 2006 @ 5:46 am

  2. Hi Terry, that Protestant joke was a good ‘un!
    They’ll be after your job soon.

    I’ve got two new neighbours moved in to rental houses, the one adjoining talks at 140 fucking decibels on his mobile whilst walking 20 times a night from house to garage, slamming all doors at each end. He’s about 50 and lives with his 25 year old daughter Dolly! Dolly and not live in boyfriend enjoy a nightly fag outside the backdoor and now have SEALED TUPPERWARE container to keep their stumps in!!!! WTF is that all about.
    The neighbours behind him are West Indian Yardies with four swearing screaming kids and two pitbulls (one named Buster). Oh, and London accents! They have piles of steaming dog turds in the front garden!

    Wayne lives next door and is better than his namesake!

    I feel a lot better sharing with you!

    Comment by Ian — May 16, 2006 @ 3:33 pm

  3. Could be worse. We’ve got quiet neighbours. You know, the sort that when you say “good morning” to them just stare at you like you’ve just sworn at them. But, if you don’t say “good morning” to them, then they say it loudly to you as if to remind you of your manners. You can’t win.

    Comment by helena — May 17, 2006 @ 1:45 am

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