May 15th 2006
Iâ€™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 didnâ€™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: â€œLiz, for fuckâ€™s sake give Nectarine her fucking dummy.â€
Mrs Pollitt: â€œIâ€™m tryinâ€™ to wean â€˜er off it, ainâ€™t I Wayne.â€
Catherine Zeta Pollitt: â€œKeanuâ€™s just fumped me again, Mum!â€
Keanu Pollitt: â€œShe was tickling the dogâ€™s bollocks.â€
Catherine Zeta Pollitt: â€œShane likes â€˜aving â€˜is bollocks tickled.â€
Mrs Pollitt: â€œAll males do, Cafferine Zee-ah.â€
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.