Never let it be said that punitive behavior doesn't exist; I've now been threatened with eviction

 And here I had a week away from all the stresses, aggravation, threats, moaning, whingeing... I thought that I was doing the right thing by constantly emailing (and occasionally threatening) the council about the lack of response to everything that Baster (aka Monkey Pox. Forever) was doing to everyone. I stuck my head above the parapet-and now I'm in danger of losing my head after all. Nobody would ever make this up.

I went off to Kent for a week of peace and quiet. No television, no radio, virtually no internet access-it was so quiet and peaceful, I wasn't happy about returning yesterday afternoon. Even when it rained (every day) I found a time to do some walking. Small village. A lot of hairdressers (!), but no greengrocers or fruit shops of any description. They had a large Tesco, so that was where I bought a few things. And that was it. Pubs-yes. Distractions? Not really. And three churches-three! go figure...

I returned to find a letter from some halfwit who calls herself a "resident liaison officer"- another council halfwit who couldn't liaise her way around a public toilet. That ended peace and really infuriated me.

This moron is called Hyacinth Simms-I keep calling her Hyacinth Bucket, after a pretentious character in a sitcom that was popular long before I came to this country. I never saw it-only the name made me laugh. Bucket doesn't make me laugh.

So Bucket sent me a six page diatribe filled with scurrilous lies, inaccuracies, misinformation, and basic bullshit. She formally threatened me with eviction-subject to statements from-if you immediately said Monkey Pox, you're right. And Shannon, his pal who lives downstairs and who-I've got absolutely no doubt-was responsible (with  Pox) for the oil on the stair and the cleanup afterwards. No proof-no witnesses-no chance of doing anything about it. Now is when I wish I knew some thugs to do it for me. And the third cretin who complained is Sandra Pavlou, who lives next to Robert, the person with whom I am collaborating on attenpts to get Baster moved elsewhere. Anywhere. 

I never had an issue with Pavlou. I haven't spoken with her, or seen her, or interacted with her in any way. We live at opposite ends of the estate, so we just never seemed to see each other. But she's hooked up with Baster-and he calls her his only family. The two of them are conjoined. Add Shannon, who is just as close (what a scary, revolting idea), and Baster's son, who is from Sweden and now lives with daddy-and you've got people who will say anything to discredit someone who has consistently reported them. Formally.

So, the question: am I going to do anything about this? Ahhhh-you know the answer. I reported the council for incompetence to the housing ombudsman and the local councillor before I left. And now I'm going to report Hyacinth Simms to the corporate complaints department. This will, of course, do nothing, as all complaints are probably thrown in a bin somewhere. But I'll be contacting the Ombudsman to offer the latest development, since Simms never contacted me and is clearly getting even for my calling her incompetent. 

Robert, who is the person I've been trying to help and support in all this-since June this year, when I stupidly agreed to help-is making noises about continuing in his quest to get Monkey Pox sanctioned- but now is backing off since I told him about the eviction threat. And that's what I get for trying to help someone who also can't be trusted.

I'm sensing a pattern? They can't evict me, by the way, because the "evidence" is spurious, and would never hold up in court. And they won't want me to take them to court.

I rang a tenancy manager yesterday afternoon-she actually answered the phone-bet she wished she hadn't- and she said that she knew nothing about this. She's Bucket's boss, by the way. I said that they'd better be ready for legal action-because I'll get them for libel, slander, defamation of character, and a whole list of other things that will make really interesting reading for the newspapers.

They do not want to mess with me. They're messing with the wrong person. Because now I won't stop until they put the situation right. I mean: I'll go public. And I will get even.

The monster known as Monkey pox (Terry Baster) - 1 ...everyone else - hmmm....

 And what's the latest on my attacker, Terry Baster (aka Monkey Pox, the scourge of Hornsey)?

It's now been four weeks since the less than graceful fall into the steel railings that left me with a severe concussion and very nasty facial injuries. Most of the bruises and swelling on my face have cleared; I don't look like I've been punched repeatedly in the face by whoever is the world boxing champion. Or a bus. But there's enough bruising left on one side of my face-and my eye-that people I know have asked me who hit me. So I've got a way to go until full healing takes place-and possibly another two months or so until the headaches have gone. Oh joy.

As for Baster (as my friend in Dublin calls him: Bastard), the council has done absolutely nothing. I sent them the horrific photos of my injuries and, true to form. Haringey never acknowledged. Nobody even bothered to phone me to ask if I was okay. That's Haringey for you: they couldn't care less about the tenants, even those of us who pay rent and are quiet and no bother to anyone.

I've been mostly using Arnica (homeopathic remedy for bruising), taking painkillers. and keeping to myself wherever possible. When I leave the house, I double check the entrances and exits, and examine every step before I go up or down. I'm hyper vigilant. Nobody should have to live like that. But I do. Now I know what it feels like to have a severe concussion. It's no fun.

Has anything changed (apart from my face)? Well- I thought you'd never ask...

I went to the police (finally) and made a police complaint; I was then told that I waited too long, there were no witnesses (everyone loves their bloody witnesses!), so the police won't pursue it. No wonder people hate the police.

On Monday there was a meeting of the residents' association-a joke if there ever was one. Some nitwit at Haringey decided that all the tenants would be better off working together. Such a stupid idea! Monkey pox doesn't work well with others.

During this meeting, Pox (monkey pox, pox, whatever-same thing) stood up and started cursing at me, threatening me, and then turned his attention to the tenants' advocate, Rob. He and Rob despise each other, so what else did Monkey Pox do? He threatened to come around the table and punch Rob in the face. In front of six witnesses, one of whom works for-Haringey Council. Witnesses. One works for the council, so he can't lie.

I remember the wise words of my grandfather: give someone enough rope and they will hang themselves with it. Don't ever (he went on to say) forget that. It will come in handy one day. Wise words which I dismissed (teenagers rarely listen anyway. I didn't.

Rob asked me to help him file a police report-and I did. I also helped him email the very people who dismissed all of us as big children who just don't like each other (antisocial behavior. Waste of time, like the rest of the council).

The police are -allegedly-going to follow up Rob's claim. When they do, Monkey Pox should get a backlash from the council, who should also get a backlash from our local councillor (politicians sometimes can help. We got a good one).

I will let you know the outcome of the statement taking tomorrow. We'll finally see if something will be done about this psychopath before he hurts anyone else-or kills me, as he has threatened more than once. Has he been hoist by his own petard (hung with his own rope)?

I hope so. Living with this kind of threat is very wearing. Anyone out there who has had this experience: I absolutely know how you feel.

Fingers crossed. This is one of those times when I wish I was related to someone like the Sopranos. LOL anyone remember the Sopranos? Only television, of course-but the real thing would be so very useful right about now. 

The Continuing Saga of Monkeypox

 I sent photos of my smashed face to-well, everyone. The landlord said nothing-clearly couldn't care less. But my friends were fuming. My friend in Dublin calls him Terry Bastard (very appropriate); I just call him monkey pox. Even more appropriate. And now Terry Baster has a new ally: Lorna Shannon, the most evil, obnoxious, malicious, malignant gossip in the entire area. Shannon is known to the police for making nuisance calls, accusing innocent people of doing things they haven't done. She's also known to the council-and to her previous neighbors-for spreading the most terrible-and untrue-gossip anyone could possibly imagine. 

And Shannon is in my building-adjacent to the stairs that were deliberately oiled nearly three weeks ago. Coincidence? Hardly. 

Baster seems to be channeling his inner Charles Manson-but with no teeth. Well-a few teeth, all rotten, and tattoos everywhere you can see (probably also places you can't see-but who would want to? What a nauseating idea). Who else would have a huge tattoo up one arm-that says "bollocks" in capital letters? 

When Baster snaps his fingers, his wannabes jump. It's astonishing how stupid people can be, and how easily led by a psychopath they can be. 

Am I safe? No. Does anyone who can do anything care? Also no. 

There aren't any more things I can do-or at least, think of doing. The police won't do anything unless he attacks me (typical police in this country). The council? They couldn't give a rat's ass as long as I pay my rent. Typical of Haringey, one of the worst boroughs in the country. The media? They've got Dizzy Lizzy, the new prime minister, who is currently doing her best to destroy the economy-and Kwarteng, the chancellor, who is-a moron. 

Plus, the crime rate has shot up astronomically since the end of lockdown, so they've got more important news. I guess. Murder would get their attention-but I'm not keen on that one.

The positive news is that most of the swelling has gone down, and the horrific bruises are turning interesting shades of yellow. A few more days and I'll look normal, rather than someone who got the crap beaten out of me. 

That's the update-so far, so good. But if you're anywhere around Haringey, Baster and Shannon are (I believe) on Facebook. And they only go for people who are disabled -or otherwise physically vulnerable. They like people who can't fight back. They like people who won't fight back.

They chose badly.