She's dead now
Next door to my old house was this woman in her mid-fifties, though she looked a lot older. She used to drink a lot and come to my front door to borrow things (money and paracetamols) and use my washing machine (she used it once then offered me a chicken in compensation). She stank but I felt sorry for her and generally gave in.

She would also stand on my doorstep for hours talking and ignore all my polite reminders of the time, etc. Or that I had no money and that last time I lent her money I had none left for lunch. Occasionally, I would have to tell her to fuck off very loudly before she would go away.

One day she turned up upset so I let her in (MISTAKE!) and we talked. During the conversation she suddenly said she was dying and that she'd had a heart attack. Now, my father died of heart disease a year or so before this, so I didn't believe her. She was a thief and a liar generally so why should I believe her?

She'd just told me that her son's girlfriend was due to give birth soon and so she attempted to give me a bag of knitting to get me to finish it. She knew I was gay and so assumed I could knit. I mean, we all can, it's genetic, like shopping. Then she said "love the baby for me". Eh? I had never even met her son. I'm sure he'd be chuffed to have some overweight poof cooing over his firstborn.

Anyhow, after a heated exchange, during which time she demanded that I tell her I cared for her, I threw her out. Sobbing.

She died a week later of a heart attack. She made my life a misery for ages but I think I've just described myself as the bad neighbour.
(BearWithLittleBrain, Fri 26 Aug 2005, 14:56, Reply)