Neighbourhood Witch

Today as I was coming into my house, I saw my elderly neighbour standing silently in her doorway, arms folded watching me like a hawk eyeing up a baby rabbit so I said, “Hi!” and proceeded to open my door and escape before she could trap me in a yak yak yak situation about a load of cobblers.

“Hi,” she replied in a sarcastic voice, “you know you’ve got a new man living under you, don’t you?” Like I could care less, shut up you old bag, I thought. “Oh really,” I said. “Yes, he’s got two children, so you’ll like that won’t you? Kids running around all over the place?” she went on. You really have a sad freaking life don’t you, I thought.

“Oh,” I replied, “where on earth are the kids going to sleep in a one bedroom flat?” I had been sucked in and she warmed to her theme, having obviously gathered intelligence for many days just for such a string of revelations. “He’s divorced, yes,” she clucked. “He has the kids during the week.” God, you really are dreadful, I thought. Poor guy. Poor kids.

“Yes,” she gabbled on, ignoring me and talking for her own benefit now, “it will be like these two next door to me, always arguing. Don’t you hear them? They have the police round every week. And the ambulance. Don’t you see them? And him over the way, he’s trying to get his son to live with him. And he’s a drug addict you know?” Yakkity yakkity and how she did go on and on.

Eventually, I managed to escape this dreadful harridan. She was at the point of questioning me about where I work and what I’m doing and I just said, “Oh, I’m doing fine. Bye for now. See You.” And I went inside and closed my door.

So, all my neighbours are a nightmare. Actually, I think not. They are all very quiet and polite. Except for Witchypoo. So, was I too rude or was she? What is wrong with this windbag? Too much time on her hands, clearly. I’m sure the silly old bat keeps a diary of my comings and goings and how many times I flush the loo and when.

I know, I know. It’s free security with her watching the street all day. But would she ever phone the police or just make more notes for her daily gossip? Oops. I mean, I know, I know. She is old and on her own and wants human contact and I should be nice. I just wish she’d stop being so damned nosey and obnoxious about everyone. And it would be very nice if she’d come and weed my garden. Again.