My Pink Half Of The Drainpipe

Our next door neighbour's a wheeze. Up at five every morning on the dot, he is. We know this because the son of a bitch puts his fucking radio on so loud it wakes everyone in the house. Every day I'm woken from my (mostly) pornographic dreams to the sound of The Pet Shop Boys or Elton fucking John blasting through the wall. After this, he gets down to the serious business of shouting at his mother - a lovely, 80 year old woman who has told me in no uncertain terms that she wants to die to get away from her son. I have offered to poison the bastard, but there's some sort of bond between them apparently and she's having none of it.

And he's obsessed with washing. His machine runs 24 hours a day and there are clothes on the line come rain or shine. I've tried telling him that underpants can be worn backwards, forwards and inside out for up to six weeks before requiring washing, but does he listen? Does he arse. He's also one of those people that washes brand new clothes before wearing them. This sort of activity bewilders me - surely they make the Chinese children wash their hands before they start their day in the sweatshop?

He also insists Emma (the lady who's house we're dossing in) goes round every night and does his eyedrops. Apparently he doesn't trust his mother's carers to do it because, and I quote, 'they steal my bloody milk'. So every night 'Emily' (as he calls her, despite being told it's 'Emma' about 37, 000, 000, 000 times) has to traipse next door to do what she calls 'her duty'. I've suggested stabbing his eyes out, but she's a kinder soul than I and won't do it. I can't see the problem because having no eyes means you don't need eyedrops doesn't it? That's logic, that is.

As well as this, he spends great amounts of his time describing his many ailments to anyone unfortunate to catch his attention. His illnesses are fucking bizarre, ranging as they do from 'asthma in me back' to the extraordinary 'hayfever in me testes'. I did point out that hayfever is an affliction more commonly associated with the nose, but he's having none of it. I often think of him, up there in his bedroom, eyes weeping from 'the bit o' grit' he's been unable to shift for 30 years, underpants so clean you could eat your dinner off 'em, and balls sneezing like a bastard.

Neighbours eh? Who'd 'ave 'em?