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Saturday, 6 May 2017

In which time and our money could be better spent...

A further missive has hit the doormat regarding parking spaces...

A climb down, of sorts, and a victory for our neighbours, for now.  This should avoid their having to lie down in their parking spaces to protect their territory.

When first I moved into Stalag One, I had already been fully informed of the busy-body reputations of the self-important harridans who viewed themselves in a manner of importance that they neither were, or would ever be.

Joining their ranks I thought to be a calming influence, and, heading off the wheel-clamping plan, I was, to begin with, but I was hoofed off the committee unceremoniously when I had the temerity to let my flat and move on.

No matter, thought I, my little short, fat legs had difficulty perambulating me to the topmost floor where the coven convened anyway.

Living cheek by jowl in this unpleasant atmosphere has been a sad, sorry experience.  Being somewhat cowardly, I'll do almost anything to avoid confrontation and the other inmates crave a quiet life, so we just put up with the spiteful goings on.

Our money has been spent on new locks on the outer doors without a word of explanation.  The pot holes in the road are in dire need of repair and we need lighting as we tread cautiously up the steep incline so as not to fall into them, but it would appear that our hard earned funds are used mainly for the litigation of personal vendettas.

My paternal Nana was a spiteful busy body who made herself very unpleasant regarding the disturbance caused to her peace by small children playing ball games on a green area opposite her house.  So much so that an anonymous wag sent her a job lot of condoms so that she might use her time differently.

Now there's a thought!




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