My life seems to revolve around BG (Before Gentamicin) and AG (After Gentamicin). It's easier for me to compartmentalize by doing this (marginally). And if you've been with me for awhile-or are returning-or find anything interesting (there's a lot to read!), you'll know that after the Royal London Hospital nearly killed me, but destroyed my vestibular system in the attempt, I had no choice but to leave my lovely upstairs property and move into a council flat a mile and a half away. Boy, do I miss that property!
In this area of council flats, Haringey Council placed several people who had been in psychiatric hospitals and had to be rehoused in the community. Their hospitals and wards were closed, so they were dispersed-well, everywhere. Why we had to get several is a very good question.
Fanny Fruitcake's real name is Carol. And Carol was the first person I met when I moved here. She seemed friendly, and relatively sane. Or so I thought! She kept inviting me around for coffee, liked to chat about the other tenants, and then-she hit on me. Seriously! One day she offered to give me some extra paint she had left over from painting her flat, invited me for a coffee, and showed me all the paintwork. It was migraine-inducing.
The kitchen was an interesting shade of bile green. The living room was painted an eye-shattering shade of puce. When she showed me the bedroom (I stood in the doorway. Muggins here finally got the drift of what was going on), I saw walls that could only be described as urine yellow-neon urine yellow, the shade you find when you have a really serious kidney infection. How she didn't throw herself out of a window is a mystery to this day. And then, over coffee, she asked me if I liked women. Oh, brother! She said that she likes women, and that we would make a good couple. I started to laugh-not the best way forward, but I was so shocked that I couldn't help myself. I explained that I'm completely heterosexual, and she said that I shouldn't knock it until I've tried it. Needless to say, I made my escape, and that was the last time I ever went over there for coffee. I decided that I didn't want to wade through the crazies, the fantasists, and the weirdos to find friends. The ones I had were pretty normal. Since then, I've discovered from talking to the neighbors (outside, where it's safer) who is batshit crazy and who isn't. What a revelation.
On Monday, two of the tenants called a tenancy meeting. It was-allegedly-urgent. Apparently they pushed the landlord to send representatives, so two showed up. If you wanted to view a lunatic's free for all, this was it. One guy, crazy Terry, my former neighbor who is dangerously psychotic, ran around screaming at everyone, making no sense at all. Other people were talking at the same time, everyone was shouting to try to be heard, and out came Fanny Fruitcake, wearing her favorite Australian outback-busting hat, complete-wait for it-with corks hanging from the brim. I laughed so hard that if I'd been sitting down I would have fallen off the chair (She told me once-before we stopped speaking-that she didn't know where Australia was, but they all wear corks and she wanted to go there).
Well. To add to the amusement, she came charging over like an angry rhino and started shouting that she couldn't sleep at night and had nightmares (seriously? If I had a flat with urine-yellow, bile green and puce walls, I wouldn't be able to sleep either). Apparently one of the buildings is so dangerous, it has to be evacuated so that someone could fix the damage. The thing is falling down. And she's now afraid that her building at the other end of the road is going to fall down, too. She was shouting. When questioned, she said that she was shouting because she's very deaf in both ears. One of the landlord's people asked whether she wore hearing aids. Yes, she said-but they're in her apartment. Good place for them...
All in a day's entertainment. In all the months of lockdown, I didn't see any of the neighbors, crazy or sane. In that respect, lockdown was a bonus. All the nutters were sequestered. On Monday, I couldn't help but think-oh for another lockdown!
I wish I could report that people aren't as nasty, aggressive, rude, obnoxious, ignorant, dishonest, and just plain braindead as they were before the pandemic hit last year. Unfortunately, the result is true. They are so much worse. That tells you a great deal about people, doesn't it?
No wonder I prefer animals. Give me a dog any day.
No comments:
Post a Comment