What’s All The Noise?

Hey, I have a new neighbour. Just went down and introduced myself. Gary is there, with his kids and the landlord has stripped the flat completely bare before he’s moved in so I can hear them echoing around. The first thing I notice is that Gary has a shaved head in complete contrast to yours truly but that’s cool. He’s a big bloke, tubby, shorter than me, with more tattoos than bare flesh on his big arms. He grins and tells me he fits doors for a living.

He wants to install loads of home security devices, like a new door with a spyhole and one of those 500Watt floodlights that comes on when you approach. I think I’ve managed to put him off that last one because it acts like a flag telling the whole street when you’re in or out. He showed me the huge padlock he’s got for his shed and I said it will make it look as if he’s got something to steal. Why does anyone need a ton of security here? I dunno.

So, yes, he is divorced after I think it was 18 years he just told me. And we’ll meet up for a few beers soon. I said I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking. He said he isn’t a big drinker either, “only eight or nine pints”. Good grief. Well, at least there isn’t far to stumble home! Oh, and yes, I did explain about the bin thing, but not in a blatant “empty your freaking bin and get it off my garden!” way. As I say, he’s a big bloke with big arms who worries about security.

And there you have it. I’m sure I shall see more of security conscious Gary. I hope I don’t wind up with a load of tattoos.

So, anyway, I’ve invited Gary over for beers when he’s around next. I doubt it will be intellectually stimulating, but who knows? At least he’s about the same age as me and he might have a huge DVD collection I can raid. I know he’s into big screen TV and satellite. Mind you, witchypoo isn’t so bad in small doses. No one is really, are they? Hmmm…

Okay, so I’m having a beer right now and mellowing about the lot of them. The bin/garbage can is still on my garden meanwhile. That’s my overgrown garden full of weeds. If it wasn’t for the roses growing around my door (ahhhh!) then the outside of my place would be a complete disgrace. I think my whole life really does need a woman’s touch.

He grins and tells me he fits doors for a living…

On reflection, he must have said he works on doors. I was trying to figure out why he was off to work at 8.30pm and comes home at 3am if he works in the building trade. And why does he wear a suit to work? Doh. He doesn’t fit doors. He’s a doorman.