Welcome to the Neighbourhood

September 17, 2010


We have moved.

One week, there we all are, living with The Hippy and The Cave Troll, with no money, no job and a broken jeep. The next, we are house-hunting and moving to the shores of Lake Ontario and we have some money, a job and a less broken jeep.

Exciting times.

I don’t get to go house hunting. Moreover, they tend to pretend I don’t exist when house hunting and then, if landlords ever come round and see that I do, indeed, exist, I suddenly belong to somebody called ‘Uncle Dave’* who has gone on holiday.

*Everyone my Dad ever makes up is called ‘Dave’. He knows a fair few real Daves, too. Dave who ran The Morden and dribbled a bit when he talked, Dave who worked behind the bar at The Morden and was obsessed with boobs, Dave From The Prairies who had seventeen children and once tried to kiss my Dad because The Mushroom dared him to and That Bastard Dave, who tried to kill me and Is Evil.

House-hunting – Day 1:

The Mushroom: I really liked that third house.

My Dad: That third house was painted puce.

The Mushroom: But we could repaint it…

My Dad: And it had a giant slide in the living room.

The Mushroom: It wasn’t a ‘giant slide’. It was a staircase cover.

My Dad: Yes. A giant slide. I don’t want to sit and watch TV in a room that is painted puce with a giant novelty slide in it.

Pause.

The Mushroom: What about the second one?

My Dad: It was in the middle of an industrial estate.

Pause.

The Mushroom: And you really didn’t like the first, either? Cos of the uneven floor?

My Dad: It was sideways. It was like being on a frigging ship.

House-hunting – Day 2:

My Dad: I think we should state, as a rule, that we do not wish to live anywhere again that smells of urine.

The Mushroom: (sighing) Okay.

My Dad: Or where the landlord says he will ‘pop by’ every day to empty the dehumidifier.

The Mushroom: Alright.

My Dad: And I think it’s probably best not to ring back the woman who wanted to do our birth charts.

The Mushroom: Gotcha.

House-hunting: Day 3.

They come back all happy. They have found a house. The Baby loves it. We’re moving in two days.

Moving Day:

If I were to give my Dad a bit of advice, it would be this: when saying yes to strangers who stop and ask if you want a hand moving boxes, keep an eye out to see if they steal your wallet from where you’d left it as they place said box in your house.

Oh, and your sunglasses.

But anyway, we have now MOVED.

There is a part of me which quite likes moving around a lot. It’s interesting, more interesting than just staying on the Holderness Road or what have you. You meet a lot of people, you see how different folk in different climates live, their mores, their strategies for coping. It widens your perspective on what it is to be alive and maybe, more than anything else, that’s what life is about – a making sense of your own existence, and then validating it in some way by doing something useful or good or both.

I like it, though, only in theory. In reality, I want a corner of somewhere that is warm and smells of me and is mine.

So far, I really like this corner.

 Apart from Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour.

I don’t trust jumpers. It’s like a pathetic attempt at being a proper mammal. Quite frankly, since you started that Walking Upright business and making wheels and dishwashers and things, your fur has gotten less and less until now you just have these weird patches of the stuff (pregnant Mushroom notwithstanding) and I think, personally, that that is nature’s pay off. You want labour saving devices and a telephone? Excellent. Fill your boots. But I’ll be having your fur back, thankyou. So when I see a man wearing a jumper, I think, amongst other things: twat. You’ve got no fur. Stop pretending.

 Don’t start me on people wearing actual fur. It’s like watching somebody wandering about wearing somebody else’s ears.

Hello!” says my Dad, raising his hand to Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour as the latter got into this car one morning.

Nothing.

“Good morning!” called The Mushroom, as Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour got out of his car one afternoon.

Nothing.

“Hello!” said The Baby, as Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour took stuff out of his car one evening.

Nothing.

These are my theories regarding Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour:

1. He is blind. If so, he probably should be driving less.

2. He is scared of English people.

3. He hates English people.

4. He’s really shy.

5. He’s a mentalist.

Personally, based on how hot it’s been, I’m going to go for 5 because even when it was so hot all I could do was sit very still and hope that someone  let me in and put the air conditioning on, he was still wearing a jumper.

We shall see.

Lake Ontario is so very big that it is really a sea. Lots of seagulls here. If anyone can think of a way of letting the boys back in Saskatchewan know, give us a shout.

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2 Responses to “Welcome to the Neighbourhood”

  1. Deer Baby said

    Could Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour be all 5? A blind, shy English hating mentalist? He’d probably get on with mine – Jack Sprat and Land Army. Land Army wears little bits of fabric tied in a jaunty bow round her head. Every day. Not quite dungarees but they would suit her.

    I know you have moved, but I had never heard of Saskatchewan before and then all at once twice in one week. http://www.flickr.com/groups/1464000@N25/. Still, it has the word ‘kat’ in it so it must be good.

    • annablagona said

      Urghghgh! That link gave me flashbacks. I keep getting them anyway.

      Jumper Wearing Unsmiling Neighbour said hello to The Mushroom the other day, but is still ignoring my Dad and The Baby. 25 degrees today. Still wearing a jumper. Freakazoid.

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