The evidence has been mounting over the last few weeks, but today took the blinkin' Custard Cream. A mere six hours ago, the Twat was asking me for food and beer and insulting my garden. Five minutes ago I was woken by a loud banging on the door, the chuntering of a delivery lorry, and TwatBoy thundering down the stairs (which I have explained he must try and avoid doing, for the Stairs Are Over My Bedroom). After some SHOUTING in our shared hall (which is separated from my sleeping head by a door and about fifteen feet of air), he slammed the door TWICE, and then leant out of his window to shout 'CHEERS MATE' at the departing delivery man.
I am now very awake, very tired, and very, very cross. Later today, I will kill him. But first I must drink Berocca and a pint of tea, eat some toast and Marmite, and have a little sleep.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
No comments:
Post a Comment