Let me tell you more about the building I live in.
The never-ending story, part 6002. And counting, by the sound of it.
So it's crumbling down and threatening millions of innocent and oblivious passers-by, so the managing agent has done fuck-all in the past three years, and so, after 6 weeks of faffing about, we might just be on the verge of a break-through with a new managing agent - but that's only if we make the bloody decision instead of going 'oooh, I don't knoooowww...'
And. Somebody bought the garden shed a couple of months ago. Understand, this is a very elaborate garden shed, where people have lived for a long time. And they have direct access to the garden. Which is not very elaborate, but hey, it's a garden.
So anyway, some people have bought it. And they're redoing it. Completely, by the sound of the works. And those clever, clever - and cheeky, cheeky - buggers are planning on adding, get this, two floors to said garden shed. Two. Floors. And why not, I ask? Look, I'm gonna buy a parking space, add several rooms on all sides of it, and a couple floors too, and hey presto, I have me a whole fucking building!
So that's their plan. Little do they know that they are up against a couple of very determined owners who do not want what little view they have of the garden to be blocked. And we have a secret trump... The neighbor! Super-err-and-emm-girl!
She phoned me today, and honestly, if I wasn't in such dire need of entertainment, I'd have probably killed her. Well, I don't really know what I would have done, considering the resounding success that was the assassination of the other neighbor with the maddening laughter, but... Oooh, oooh, I know! I should lock the two of them up in one room and wait for the end.
And, as training, I shall let her loose on the garden gnomes first. I give them half an hour before they agree to whatever she says just, please god, make her stop!
Well that was my reasoning when she phoned me anyway. I don't know that there is anything quite as simultaneously infuriating and debilitating as someone with a high-pitched voice who doesn't know what exactly she's about to say but still cuts you short because she thinks she knows what you are about to utter. Nothing. Well, I suppose I could mention my brother trying to make me go completely mental when I was 15, and doing a fine job of it too, but what help would that be to me in my present predicament, apart from making me burst a brain vessel, I don't know.
So yeah, twenty minutes on the phone with her and I was ready to get the blame - screaming - for just about anything, from stealing candy when I was 9 (between 7 and 12 anyway) to the entire Enron debacle.
I reckon the new owners don't stand a chance.