good news/bad news

Good News - grandma was wrong! For those of you who can't be bothered to click on the link: to summarise - the woman in flat two (yes, that woman!) is convinced that our new neighbour (the woman in flat four) is a prostitute. She's wrong! Not that we ever believed her but it was nice last night to have her doubts removed. Of course I am using the word "nice" is a totally appropriate way - I am using definition 6: " Showing or requiring great precision or sensitive discernment".

Bad News - grandma was wrong!

It appears we haven't been sleeping as soundly as we think. It appears that we have both been sleeping with (at least) one ear tuned to the noises outside. I have noticed that Maria disturbs at night and will often wander into the living area to glance out the window and check on the car. I know that I have added an extra 5m to my "middle-of-the-night-toilet-visit" to glance out the living room window and check on the car. Both of us have been checking on the car - worried that something might happen to it. But I have been assuming that we have been sleeping normally and this panic-checking has just been a result of too many beers/too much cheese. Last night I was proved wrong. A car alarm + an engine revving + a woman screaming = two people sat bolt upright in bed.

Did you hear that?

Uh-huh.

I'm checking the car.

I'm with you.

Both of us were out of bed (her faster than me) staring out the window, trying to see if the car was alright. I was delayed by trying to focus on the time - 4.07am. The car looked ok - well, as ok as a car can look through a window covered in condensation and a flyscreen in the way.

There's a can or something on the car. I'm going to get it.

She throws on a coat and is out the door before I can react - that's my excuse! She pauses on the top of the stairs - the door to number four is wide open, lights on. Downstairs the gate is wide open. I watch her cross the street and get the cup (it is a polystyrene cup) from the bonnet. On the way back up to the flat she locks the front gate. Back inside she recounts her adventures.

There was a car downstairs. Four youths. Two in the car, two outside. When I came out the two got in the car and drove away.

We go back to bed. Switch out the lights. Pretend to go back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later a car pulls up outside. The gate is rattled and much swearing ensues. It is unlocked and a woman (high heels) walks up the stairs and into flat 4 - she doesn't shut the gate.

So, she wasn't kidnapped - a voice whispers in our bed.

We giggle. Fifteen minutes later someone comes up the stairs and goes into flat 4. We giggle. Is it a john? Nope, he leaves two minutes later. Half an hour later another visitor. Slowly (but surely) the people in our bed manage to put one and one together and come up with an answer that doesn't equal prostitute.

Bad News - grandma is wrong. The woman in flat 4 isn't a prostitute! She's a drug dealer. Might be time to move :^)

Comments

[Alan]

Yep I'd be moving - which we are, but not because we have a neighbour like yours. Good luck with the move.