NEWSFLASH: My Neighbour Is In Fact A Cunt

"Why the downgrade from twat to cunt?", I hear you cry. Quite simple, my friends. His music choice in the last half hour has included Coldplay, shit-period U2, and FUCKING KEANE. I don't hate hate hate Coldplay, although I don't listen to them by choice; but I do not want to hear 'Fix You' six times in a row, accompanied by the sound of furniture dragging across technically-illegal laminate floorboards, random banging and sawing, and small irregular crashes.

His life is over.

Day 97: I Am Now Sure My Neighbour Is A Twat

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.

Day 97: I Have Irrefutable Evidence That My Neighbour Is A Twat

It is now 2.15 in the morning. At 2am, my neighbour knocked on the door and asked me if I had any food. I gave him some cold stuff, probably with fag ash and drool on it. "You got any cold beer?", he asked. "Strangely, yes I have", I said, and gave him two bottles of Budvar. He started trying to tell me a story about what happened when he went to our local (which you only go to if you are clinically insane, blind and/or over the age of 78), so I sent him to bed. As he was leaving, he asked me when I was going to sort my garden out and get the windows cleaned.

He is ten years younger than me, but I know for a fact that I was never that much of a twat.

Day 96: I Am Yet Again Guilty Of Plagiarism

My spies (i.e. my friend Tom) have alerted me to this splendid story, which I will simply copy and paste below. (By the way, if I had to shag one of them or die, I'd choose the horse.)

Pint-drinking pony banned by pub

When new managers took over a south Wales pub, they were amazed to discover a horse among their regulars.

The two-year-old Welsh mountain pony was often brought in for a pint by a local at the Port O'Call in Marshfield, between Cardiff and Newport.

But Graham Wheatley, who runs the pub with Craig Thomas, has banned Mountain Mist on health and safety grounds.

"The first thing customers would be greeted with was a horse's backside," he explained.

Mountain Mist belongs to retired merchant navy officer Tony Manton, who was allowed to bring the two-year-old in by the pub's former landlord.

He said: "Everyone's heard the joke about the barman saying to the horse: "Why the long face?"

"But this is no joke to me - it's a kick in the teeth. I used to enjoy walking down the pub with her for a nice pint. She really loves a pint of John Smiths."

He first took Morning Mist into the bar as a joke - but she became a big hit with regulars.

"The former owner just got used to it. I would give Morning Mist a pint and everyone loved it," he said.

But the pint-supping pony wasn't the only unusual customer before the new regime.

"One day another guy brought in a parrot who chewed cigars - so we had a smoking parrot and boozing pony in one bar," explained Mr Manton.

Mr Wheatley said: "There's a story that a man came along with his dog and wasn't allowed to bring the animal in, even though there was a horse and parrot at the bar.

"The thing is you just can't have a horse in a bar - what if it kicked someone?

"We told the owner he was welcome to tie the horse up outside, but not bring it in.

"But to be honest, we've changed the pub a lot - it's not a boozer with 10 men leaning on the bar anymore, we are focusing on serving good food."

But that hasn't stopped customers from horsing around.

"We had someone phoning up the other day for a table for four and asked if there was room for their horse, and we were asked for a bucket of water the other day too," said Mr Wheatley.

Earlier this month, Tyneside pub landlady Jackie Gray, who had taken over the Alexandra Hotel in Jarrow, said she was shocked when a carthorse called Peggy joined owner Peter Dolan for a pint. The horse had been drinking at the pub for 12 years.

I would like to point out to foreign readers that we pay what is commonly known as a "TV licence fee" in this country. It pays for the BBC. Or, rather more accurately, it pays for BBC journalists to interview people with ponies called Morning Mist who like John Smiths bitter. I don't know what the world's coming to. It'll be live darts coverage, ballroom dancing celebrities and cats falling off the back of the sofa next*.

Oh.

* Is it wrong that I find You've Been Framed hilariously funny, but only when it involves animals falling off things or toddlers and very old people having near-death experiences and getting stuck in fences?

Non-workingmonkey's Handy Hints, No. 6

Do not burn the cakes because you are writing an email to someone in Montreal.