Life
I'm sitting up here in the loft.
11.30 at night, I'm alone in the house.
I can hear ahead of me, along the road to Sutton, and up towards St Helier behind me to the right, the junction of these two busy roads to my left.
I can hear the progress of the drunken louts as they make their way along from sutton, towards me, detailed by the sequential car alarms being triggered in counterpoint to the alarm that's been wailing for hours in the distance. The drunks are shouting and scuffling, and swearing. i've heard them approach, off to my left, and then swung round behind me to the right to go on up the road.
The dogs have finished their evening conversation. Next Door's adorable golden retriever puppy Polo is so excited to have this long-distance friend, they talk for hours across the back gardens.
I've not heard a police car for several minutes. The road up to St Helier is a major artery- St. Helier is the largest hospital in the area, so ambulances rush past regularly, and particularly frequently in relation to the unending drunken stream of louts.
Drunks from where? Well. Just the other side of the junction to my left is an Ex-Servicemen's club - private boozer. Opposite that is the railway station, and next to that is another private club. The Hope and The Racehorse are just along to the left. Along the road ahead of me and behind the houses on the right is the Football grounds. Complete with football club, complete with bar, which seems not to need any athletic event to be allowed to serve alcohol. Their floodlights intrude horribly into the back of our house, the noise on weekends is revolting. They drive huge coaches down our narrow and double-parked road. The hooligans are responsible for the injury of our first Cat - their team had lost the game, so they were quite entitled to use our cat as a substitute football. And then they wonder that their neighbours object to their planning requests to expand and take over half the local park, and the public allottments? Incidentally, the football team that plays there is, possibly fortunately, one of the worst in the country. They aim for the professional leagues, yet I believe they are near the bottom of the poorest league - unless they've been pushed out of that as well? They are laughably pathetic.
Sutton, Sutton is most entertaining. At last count there was at least 20 bars and restaurants open late in just the top section of the High Street, and I believe there's now three nightclubs. It's a well-known destination to go out, get slaughtered, and fight. But recently they've built the Head office for the Police, a splendid towering new Police Station. And there's a new campaign - Yobs will be fined for drunkenness in the streetsa, zero tolerance. On one hand, 20 - 30 bars, on the other, being drunk is illegal. Go figure. Anyways, every night those too pished to be accepted as fares by the minicabs stagger their way home on foot... along our road.
Sweet Purdy is asleep on the stack of chairs, where she has an excellent view of the staircase while being pretty well hidden from any approaching enemies - namely, Boush. He has taken to cornering Purdy and attacking her, and she just doesn't realise she is twice as big and strong as him, and could take him down in one swipe. But she cowers, and hides, and rather than risk meeting him on her way outside, she'll relieve herself on the floor up here. We now have a loft hatch to be lowered, with all felines on the house side, whenever the loft is not occupied. It still smells up here, so the windows are ajar. It may be april, the air temperature is several degrees above freezing, but it is still cold up here.
Ahhh, has that alarm finally stopped? Or is the wind carrying it away? Either way, I can't hear it, that's enough for me!
11.30 at night, I'm alone in the house.
I can hear ahead of me, along the road to Sutton, and up towards St Helier behind me to the right, the junction of these two busy roads to my left.
I can hear the progress of the drunken louts as they make their way along from sutton, towards me, detailed by the sequential car alarms being triggered in counterpoint to the alarm that's been wailing for hours in the distance. The drunks are shouting and scuffling, and swearing. i've heard them approach, off to my left, and then swung round behind me to the right to go on up the road.
The dogs have finished their evening conversation. Next Door's adorable golden retriever puppy Polo is so excited to have this long-distance friend, they talk for hours across the back gardens.
I've not heard a police car for several minutes. The road up to St Helier is a major artery- St. Helier is the largest hospital in the area, so ambulances rush past regularly, and particularly frequently in relation to the unending drunken stream of louts.
Drunks from where? Well. Just the other side of the junction to my left is an Ex-Servicemen's club - private boozer. Opposite that is the railway station, and next to that is another private club. The Hope and The Racehorse are just along to the left. Along the road ahead of me and behind the houses on the right is the Football grounds. Complete with football club, complete with bar, which seems not to need any athletic event to be allowed to serve alcohol. Their floodlights intrude horribly into the back of our house, the noise on weekends is revolting. They drive huge coaches down our narrow and double-parked road. The hooligans are responsible for the injury of our first Cat - their team had lost the game, so they were quite entitled to use our cat as a substitute football. And then they wonder that their neighbours object to their planning requests to expand and take over half the local park, and the public allottments? Incidentally, the football team that plays there is, possibly fortunately, one of the worst in the country. They aim for the professional leagues, yet I believe they are near the bottom of the poorest league - unless they've been pushed out of that as well? They are laughably pathetic.
Sutton, Sutton is most entertaining. At last count there was at least 20 bars and restaurants open late in just the top section of the High Street, and I believe there's now three nightclubs. It's a well-known destination to go out, get slaughtered, and fight. But recently they've built the Head office for the Police, a splendid towering new Police Station. And there's a new campaign - Yobs will be fined for drunkenness in the streetsa, zero tolerance. On one hand, 20 - 30 bars, on the other, being drunk is illegal. Go figure. Anyways, every night those too pished to be accepted as fares by the minicabs stagger their way home on foot... along our road.
Sweet Purdy is asleep on the stack of chairs, where she has an excellent view of the staircase while being pretty well hidden from any approaching enemies - namely, Boush. He has taken to cornering Purdy and attacking her, and she just doesn't realise she is twice as big and strong as him, and could take him down in one swipe. But she cowers, and hides, and rather than risk meeting him on her way outside, she'll relieve herself on the floor up here. We now have a loft hatch to be lowered, with all felines on the house side, whenever the loft is not occupied. It still smells up here, so the windows are ajar. It may be april, the air temperature is several degrees above freezing, but it is still cold up here.
Ahhh, has that alarm finally stopped? Or is the wind carrying it away? Either way, I can't hear it, that's enough for me!