I could be trailer trash
I am well aware that my posts have been somewhat 'unbelievable' lately. I can hear you thinking, "pfftt, that Jilly will invent ANYthing to have something interesting to write about, no-one has THAT much drama in their life, let alone a middle aged hermit who has guinea pigs as children", but I swear, all of it is true and actually, I am leaving a hell of a lot of stuff out that's going on right now, like the situation with my brother's divorce, which includes who's sleeping with whom and how a whole bunch of people are spreading shit about my parents. Ricki Lake anyone?
The point is, all this stuff is unbelievable to me too, I mean if I WANTED a soap opera I would turn on the TV. But in comparison, Eastenders is just soo lame. That said, I have yet another 'situation' going on that I want to share, seriously, the boundaries of bizarreness in my world just get bigger and bigger .
The flat below me has been empty for 6 years, the last owner was a guy named Gary whom I was really friendly with, but who unfortunately, was killed in a motorbike accident whilst I was in spinal rehab, (see, more drama!). I kind of knew something was going on when a lot of work was being done in the flat recently, so on Friday morning, when a couple moved in, surprised I was not.
That afternoon, the guy was cleaning his car right below my lounge window and me, having a genetic case of noseyitis (what? It is SO a disease!), loitered by the window in an attempt to size up the newbies. I guessed the guy was in his early fifties, which pleased me no end as 'that age' range tends to be pretty quiet and considerate, which infact they have proven to be.
Just as I was about to move away his wife came out and started up a conversation with him in a language that was not English. Not only was the language not English, but it was one of those fast talking, highly animated, shouting pitch types. Now I am pretty good at recognising most languages, but had no idea at all which one this was, but concluded that they are more than likely Eastern European, probably polish, as we have had a huge amount of polish families move into this area in the last year that have been employed by the local slaughter house. (Do you know how many lorry loads of cows begging me to save them I encounter daily?)
Now before I go any further, I want to make it known that I have NO problem whatsoever with living above a polish couple, or infact a couple of any nationality. All I have encountered have been nothing but polite, respectful and hard working. I have my own ideas about the current hot topic in Britain of "far too many immigrants taking our jobs and housing", but those views stay firmly with myself.
Anyway, later on in the day, after awakening from my current drug induced coma (another story!), I smelt something 'unusual' in the air and on opening the bathroom door, I was literally smacked in the face by the most powerful, gag worthy stench my nostrils have ever had the misfortune to encounter. I literally shrieked and slammed the door shut in disgust, desperately trying to concentrate on not puking all over my 100% Axminster wool carpet. "What the hell" I gasped "I have never smelt anything like THAT before, could that be the odour of thousands of mummified kippers?".
Now I probably need to explain, that my bathroom has no window, just has an extractor fan that shares a pipe coming up from the bathroom below, which I am pretty used too, I could guess at how many pints of liquid Gary had drunk during the day, by timing how long his echoy pee was, not to mention hearing him snore during the night, not that he actually slept in the bathroom, but hey, sound travels, that's science for ya.
Although the stench had already drifted into the entire flat, I thought it best to venture back into the bathroom, where it was at 'knock over' strength, to try and figure out exactly the cause. Cutting a long story short, it took me a number of tries of holding my breath and reluctantly entering, whilst willing my brain to "fucking hurry up and register what the smell is so I can hot foot it out of here before my windpipe ruptures".
Eventually, I realised that it must be some kind of polish cooking, I have no idea what the polish cook, all I do know is that it is wrong and entails far too much garlic and probably catfood. I tried desperately to get rid of the smell using shed loads of neutralizing spray. I had scented candles burning in every room, squirted lemon juice like it was holy water, but all to no avail. I eventually became too tired and drugged to try anymore and retired to bed. I may or may not have been wearing a decorators mask.
I would like to say this hasn't occurred again, but it seems that the polish really like their polish food. It also seems they like to come home at lunchtime and reheat polish food, before preparing yet another polish meal in time for a scrummy, lip slapping polish evening dinner. All this polish is killing me, my flat now has that well known permanent aroma of the original nasty smell, intermingled with the sweet artificial floral spray smell. It's like living in a rundown public loo and I just can't live with it. I'm ringing up housing in the morning to chase up my case. It's just not on, not only do I have druggy neighbours, I now have over zealous garlic and catfood cooking people below me. People that also like to have loud foreign conversations in bed, which I could guiltily enjoy if I knew what they were saying.
I hope I didn't make you feel too ill, I mean I could have gone into how the Polish food obviously plays havoc with the intestines, because every morning there is a distinct whiff of.......... Yeah, I'll shut up now.
