Bliss

It's all over. The nice men have finished and cleaned up and gone. They've done a good job and I'm pleased. They fixed my front door, and my doorbell (hasn't worked for ages) and cleaned up well. Now I have the sheer delight of being back in my bedroom, with my books and order and cleanliness. The spare bed is a tiny one, particularly when shared with two cats. I'd have been more comfortable on the couch, except it was up-ended in the conservatory for the duration. I've got to put all things back again, but it's my long weekend so I can do this at my leisure. It will be fun playing house again, doing the spring-cleaning at the same time, washing curtains and cushion covers and duvets. I'm going to reorganize some of my "stuff" - copious numbers of ornaments and things I'm now too old for or have changed my mind about or am just plain sick of.
    The neighbours over the back fence have installed a spa-pool. Oh joy. That will be bubbling away at all hours of the day and night, with drunken screams and splashes no doubt. Perhaps they've decided to take up swinging as a hobby, if she can manage to get him away from his precious machinery.  Funny thing, they've got four kids, but there's not really anything for them in the garden. Most people have a swing or a trampoline or a tree hut, but not them, it's all very adult. Hopefully the boys have some sort of indoor riot room.
    The people over the road are dreadies, worshippers of Bob Marley. I can hear their stereo right now as we speak. There is a new guy there, hope he's not staying long, wears a hoodie and sits in his car with a stubby in hand and the stereo and the car engine running, right outside my bedroom. So fucking annoying. Then he zooms off, only to reappear in a half-hour. I get the feeling he's some sort of delivery service, wouldn't like to say what I think he's delivering. It's not goodwill, that's for sure. They've got about five vehicles there, a large truck, a small truck, a fourwheel drive, a landrover and a car and a horsefloat. Fairly often they move them all around, just for something to do. Two of the vehicles are parked on the street permanently; why do they need them at all?
  So here I am, sandwiched between les nouveaux riches with the House-and-Garden Shrew and her spa-pool and the  dreaded daksters across the road. What a weird place I live in, the far-out pa it is in very truth. Whatever happened to nice, quiet people?