Blue Rinse Dragons Part II
This will make more sense if you can be bothered with this Blue Rinse Dragons Part I

The wispy apparition of the Lingerie Lady of the Line obviously represented a sort of lace trimmed gauntlet to the old bats. Stalls had been set out, battle lines drawn. This first became evident when they started to mow further and further into my lawn. The old buggers were quite literally cutting my grass. They always conspired together, frantically rushing around the garden in tartan slippers, always at dusk - one mowing, one cable bashing. I’m not a petty man; well I am actually so clearly this was going escalate.

The flats had a white slatted fence about 6 feet high at the division point of the properties, but this barely extended onto the back lawn – 20 feet at most. Whereas the lawn stretched a good 50 or more feet further off into the distance. To make matters worse my side was an end terrace so I had another large garden area and parking for 3 cars at the side of my place. They had no such luxury, so this was probably an issue of hot contention for them too, even though neither of them had cars.

The wonky line that veered further into my lawn, now twice a week during the height of summer, was getting on my tits. Then plastic bottles filled with water started appearing everywhere. I had to ask – to which I was informed with the sort of confident air in such matters that only David Attenborough should have access to…

‘The bottles keep YOUR cats out of our garden’
‘Eh?’
‘Their reflection, it scares them off’
‘Does it really? How ingenious!’

I said this while casually observing over her shoulder my tortoiseshell moggie Chloe. She was lying on her back in a distinctly louche manner lazily prodding one of the plastic bottles. I had also at one stage witnessed one of the old trouts propping up a few house bricks against the fence at the far end of the garden. On further enquiry I was informed (incredulously as though I was an utter cretin):

‘It keeps cats out – cats are too lazy to climb fences’

But it was the lawn thing that really pissed on my pizza. So one Saturday morning, courtesy of HSS Hire, the sort of ubermower that Wembley groundskeepers have pictures of, have taped inside their lockers, arrived on a trailer. One very noisy hour later the lawn was like a fucking pinstripe Savile Row suit specified in lurid green.

I knew however the wine from this sweet victory would soon run dry. So the following weekend they were in for another little surprise.

If you ever need to put up a fence really fucking fast - then I suggest you check out these guys. www.metpost.co.uk/

When the bloke arrived from B&Q to deliver my order I got him to leave the posts, 16 pound sledgehammer, fence panels, clips and other related paraphernalia stacked up ominously in the back garden. Then I went for a pint.

By the time I came back they were out in the deckchairs perched on the vehemently disputed border, knitting - knitting long polymer strands of pure black clicking hatred. An empty crisp packet blew across the garden like tumbleweed. A lone crow mocked the scene from its gallery on the rooftops. I stubbed my cigarette onto the lawn, dead on the borderline. Grinding it in with my foot I squinted into the sunlight, and snarled...

‘Can't hang around ladies, things to do’

Whang – the first metal post spike pierced the lawn and plunged into the soft black loam like a javelin through a badly coordinated Olympic official. It was like pushing candles into a birthday cake. A few taps on the wooden post with the sledgehammer, couple of clips here and there, and low! The first birch lap, pressure-treated panel was up. At 6 foot it was considerably taller than me, and these old biddies were struggling to hit 5 foot in two pairs of support hose. And there it was, a magnificent all seeing Pagan monolith draping its cold malevolent shadow deep into their chintzy territory.

They went absolutely, vein-popping, batshit mental. Literally running in and out of their flats, shouting insults from upper windows.

‘You can’t do that, this is private property’ one shrieked.
‘Yes it is, and this half is mine' I smiled sweetly.
‘You don’t own it; I’m phoning Mrs Cantremeberhername (my landlady).’
‘No need, I have in writing from her that she approves of the fence, would you care to see?'.
‘You need planning permission’
‘I don’t’
‘You do’
‘I don’t – it is classed a temporary structure, and as it is less than 7 feet in height therefore I don’t need permission from anyone except the landowner – which I have’
‘It’s on the wrong boundary’
‘Not according to this copy of the deeds (flip, flap, unfold) – care to see? In fact I’m sorry to be the one to tell you but that part of the end of the garden is also actually mine – right up to the back fence’

She was fucking apoplectic by this point – the bit at the bottom of the garden was her favourite spot for deckchair surveillance – it actually looked into my living room.

Then her son arrived.

‘Tell him Malcolm, TELL HIM’

I explained the situation to the clearly long suffering bloke. He apologised and gave me his number in case I needed it. Then smiled weakly as he tried to assure her it was not a police matter and I was not deliberately destroying the value of her property. So I continued to put the line of fence panels up at an impressive rate. The mad old witch now had to be physically held back by her son. Then the other old bint who had been quieter up till now suddenly opened her upper window and screamed…

‘You’re not even married it’s disgusting’
‘Why don’t we elope?' I suggested. 'Blue hair really does it for me?'

As the last panel went up I stood back and took stock. Just as I was about to pop another beer I heard a clattering from the mad old bats garden shed. Then perched on ancient stepladders, craning and wobbling awkwardly around the last panel, I saw a frazzled mop of blue hair attached to an alarmingly purple face glaring round the fence – so far down the garden I struggled at first to see which poisonous harridan was there screeching the now immortal line...

‘I can still SEE you you know! I can still SEE….’

I can only assume at that point the ramifications of a person of advancing years clambering onto an antique ladder suddenly became distinctly apparent to the old bitch.

I moved out 18 years ago. Fence is still there though.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 0:56, 19 replies)

Excellent work!
Your posts have been the highlight of the week Spimf, well written and hilarious too.

Beautifully done.

*clicks*
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 5 Oct 2009, 9:31, closed)

thanks
*blushes deeply*
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 10:44, closed)

Brilliant!
*doffs cap*
*clicks*
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Mon 5 Oct 2009, 11:59, closed)

this is ...
excellent. Clicky!
(Ja For Sure, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 12:11, closed)

i think
you lived next to my nan.


bravo!!!
(jonny_power boom chika wah wow, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 12:18, closed)

Applause
I'm inmpressed
(Gru being trolled since 1998, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 13:09, closed)

Fantastic.
You could and should collate these stories into a book of shorts.

Excellent!
(TheColonel, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 13:37, closed)

Thou art the Master sir,
Especially "knitting - knitting long polymer strands of pure black clicking hatred"

"Click"
(Obi wanker nobi Its not a bug, its an unexpected feature, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 15:30, closed)

Bravo
I thoroughly enojyed both parts of the story, a click for each.
I do hope there are more stories, maybe for another time?
(Szetak fears the wurst! (Saus-o-phobe), Mon 5 Oct 2009, 16:25, closed)

go on, push yourself
on to a part 3. A tryptych of blue rinse rage.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 16:33, closed)

this reads like a book
a book that i want to read more of.
*click*
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 5 Oct 2009, 23:07, closed)

thanks
i really enjoy writing all this nonsense - the oddest thing though is aside from the odd week i do a silly pun... its essentially all true. Mrs Spimf should be given a medal - 20 years the poor woman has done.

i'm really chuffed you enjoy my inane witterings.

cheers.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 0:37, closed)

i do!
have you considered writing a book? i'm sure it would sell!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 0:50, closed)

Awesome, both parts :)
*clicks*
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 22:05, closed)

First rate work sir!...

A couple of excellently written pieces and I click them both with hammers.

I find it difficult to believe that someone as timid and gentile as yourself could resort to such acts of in-your-face petulant tomfoolery...

Oh, hang on a sec...

*remembers who he is talking to*

never mind.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 7 Oct 2009, 8:17, closed)

Now this is absoultely marvellous
great read - can't quite decide which I like more, this or the Part I. Both absolutely excellent, funny, well-written reads. Cheers.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 10:37, closed)

Brilliant!

( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 12:13, closed)

congratulafuckinglations
Winnar.

Stop the QOTW, etc.

Click!
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 2:26, closed)

Stunning work.
Stunning writing.
clicky.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 12:55, closed)