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.