The basket case and my quest for the precious...

Wednesday was a day spend relaxing and recuperating following the dubious "fun" of working all day on St Patrick's day. I went to the beach with Little Miss Manuel and her family dog, which was exciting. The wet and smelly sort of excitement that only a manic dog can bring but it was a good day none the less. But the real excitement of the day came with the visit to my local all seeing, all knowing, all providing supermarket. I prefer to get my provisions from the local shops, butcher not included, but I was whacked from an afternoon chasing after a dog chasing after a ball so I went for the easy option.

shopping 101:

stuff goes in here

I picked up my basket and began the drudgery of the schlep from one end of the supermarket to the other obeying the unspoken rule of the one way system. The bloody place was rammed with hungover students recovering and restocking from the annual St Patrick's day riots. God I hate students and I hate subsidising their afternoon riots. The smell of stale Buckfast lingering in the air was hastening my meander round the shop quite considerably.

Have you ever come across a person who doesn't know how to shop in a supermarket? You know the sort, doesn't know how to use a basket let alone where they are kept. The sort of chap that wears an expression of part wonderment part confusion part dismay at the crassness of it all? Well he wandered my way whilst I was deciding which size bottle of ketchup to buy.

He was carrying all his shopping in his arms and was clearly having some trouble balancing them all whilst he sought out other things, stuff and crap. He looked like a game show contestant, "Who wants to be a massive douche?", sprung to mind. He was also zipping about from aisle to aisle in the most disorderly way paying no mind to the unwritten one way system rule. I moved on quick sharpish lest he want to engage me in conversation about which was the best mayo to mix with his caviar.

I got myself to the frozen food section and away from the foppish idiot, honestly he was like a character from a Richard Curtis borefest. Having found the mini-twister ice lollies that I sought I was all a fucking rage as I couldn't reach the last box. There it was all glowing and lovely like the ring from that film about walking, The Lord of the Walks. But the preciousness I could not reach. So I set down my basket and practically climbed inside the freezer compartment to get at it. But as I struggled and reached out like a man trying to save his lover from falling over a cliff I felt a tap on my back. "Bollocks", thought I, Tesco's finest were pissed off that I was all over their freezer section with my sandy shoes. But when I turned round who did I find there? That's right the foppish idiot no less. Argh!

"Hello..", says he wobbling about from foot to foot with his bleach and his lettuce and all the other crap looking like a giant game of Jenga.

"Yeah?", says I curtly.

"..hello...., " again, "...do you work here? Could you point me in the direction of the fish counter? I cant seem to find it...", he asked as he tried to keep his golden jewel encrusted tiara from slipping from his head.

Now I will never know how I rested the urge to say, "Yeah that's right I work here. Tesco fits all it's staff out in Scotch & Soda sweaters, blue Wranglers and classy Spanish Camper shoes, you fucking massive douche." But resist I did. I informed him that this Tesco did not have a fish counter but if he wandered a little to the left and up a bit he would find the pre-packaged shitty fish offerings that they do stock. And off he wobbled nearly taking out a skinny looking Polish family whilst he was at it. They gave me a dirty look. I was too engrossed in trying to get the last box of mini-twisters to tell them that he wasn't my mate. I damned my shortness and gave up in the end, settling for a less than pleasing box of fruit pastille lollies instead. Why does the world hate me so much? Why?

As usual I got to the checkout's to find them understaffed with queues of filthy students and friends of filthy students loitering all over the place. I joined a queue and waited for the, "All multi-skillers to checkouts please" announcement. From the corner of my eye I could see yer man, the foppish idiot, with an old woman. She was taking the stuff from his arms and dropping them into a basket for him. "What an utter cunt", I thought as I shuffled patiently up the queue whilst keeping an eye on the kid with the 24 pack of beer in front of me. He was eyeing my chicken breasts up with a little too much drool for my liking.

At that the expected, '"All multi-skillers to checkouts please" announcement came and is if from nowhere came wave after wave of blue sweatered Tesco employees. Are they chameleons? Do they change colour so that you cant see them against the tins of beans? Anyway that didn't matter, what mattered was that there were now new checkouts open and the rush was on to move from stupidly long queue to empty queue. I picked my checkout, lifted my basket and shuffled left, I shuffled like a man has never shuffled before only to find that I was beaten to that newly opened checkout by....the massive fucking douche with the foppish hair.

"Fucking pish!", I exclaimed a little louder than I probably should have as heard me and turned round.

"Sorry?", he asked

"You get some fish?", I replied

"Yes, yes thank you for that. Don't normally get the goods, the wife does that."

You don't fucking say. You know what gets me the most? He walked straight out of the chips n dips aisle to an empty checkout. He probably thinks it's like that all the time. He didn't have to queue with the rest of us and the dirty, filthy, smelly, stale Buckfast omitting students. The bastard. As the woman on the checkout packed his bags, I mean what the fuck is that all about, they never pack mine, he turned to me and said,"So you must be finished work then? It's a great place you have here." And off he went.

Meh.

Who needs neighbours?

The solitary painter working in the house next door assures me he will be finished in the next week or so. He's been the only person working next door that hasn't made me want to commit murder. He's an affable sort of chap, full of pleasantries and cheery hello's or to be exact what about ye's. We converse most mornings as I smoke my breakfast on the doorstep and he has his mid morning cup of milky tea. It's the normal run of the mill small talk, the joy of the Irish summer, sport, the economy, and so on. There was an odd moment though last week when we drifted onto the worsening situation in Zimbabwe. As neither of us really knew what we were talking about we both just ended up standing there shaking our heads muttering about what a scoundrel Mugabe is.

"Yup he's a bud un" says he and then takes a big gulp of tea from his, "Worlds best grandad" mug (cracked).

I sucked on my smoke and replied, "Yup, a bad un for sure."

Then there was silence followed by, "Probably rain again soon."

He sucked on his smoke and replied, "Yup, it'll rain all right."

I'll miss our chats.

In fact I'll be devastated when he goes. Not just because of our dazzling and illuminating repartee, I'm not that starved of conversation but because it will soon mean that the house will be available for rent. This fills me full of terror.

"crazy" students I hate students
fuck off and get a job.

That property has been empty for a very long time. The last tenants left, I assume though I never actually saw them leave, about four years ago. They were odd. You only ever caught partial glimpses of them, a leg as they scuttled into the house, a forehead as they peered out from behind the curtains. You knew they were there but you never got to see them in their entirety, much like the monster from Cloverfield. But without the head ripping and terrorising of Manhattan. That is until the night that the young woman who lived next door found her way into my house. That night she was every bit like the monster from Cloverfield.

I shared the house with my cousin back then. An odd boy for sure but quiet with it, so in many ways he was the perfect person to share with. He didn't bother much with the ladies or rather they didn't bother much with him. So when one literally fell on to his lap in the middle of the night who was he to look a gift horse monster in the mouth?! So the cousin and Ms Cloverfield got it on, as the kids say. This led to much awkwardness and more scuttling over the next few weeks and months as they tried to avoid each other and Mr Cloverfield obviously.

But since then the house has been gloriously empty. But not for much longer. Soon it will be filled, most likely with students. Oh mother of fuck I hope it's not students. But the large extension that now blocks the sunlight from my kitchen says it probably will be. I'd love it just to stay empty but unless I rent it as well as this place that ain't gonna happen.

Like I say I really don't want students living next door to me, especially first year students with their new found freedom and their college grants and loans burning holes in their corduroy pockets. Do students till wear corduroy? I don't know either, or care. Yes first year students from the country would be the worst possible result. No "off" button you see. Everything is conducted at full volume at all times. Why speak when you can shout? Why close the door when you can slam it? Why have a couple of friends round for some drinks when you can invite the whole of your university year group round instead? Why listen to decent music when you can shout/sing along to the Gambler by Kenny Rogers? Oh fuck, I'm frightened.

More Children of the Corn than Dawsons Creek, if you know what I mean

If I could decide you lived next door I would choose, deaf old people. But it's gonna be students. I'd prefer religious students, Buddhist, Christian or Muslim any really, as opposed to students who are religiously annoying. You see there would be no wild parties, lots of early nights, no drinking, no wild sex or even un-wild sex with which to torment me at 3 in the morning, no knocking at the door at 4am by people looking for "Seanies" house, no stealing my bin, no empty beer cans in my backyard, no bodies in my backyard. Oh yes, religious students are the way to go. And as a bonus the sound of their late night praying and chanting etc would be the perfect way to get to sleep. Sure there would be the occasional attempt to convert me but I'd rather that than the hedonistic hell that could be living there.

You can call me a grumpy old bastard if you want, I don't care.

Manuel needs his sleep.