Trubble in ma hood.

I think I've mentioned my elderly insane neighbours.

My newest neighbours keep fort with a rottweiler, four budgies and two horny lizards.

One is using a raving, rent-dodging, fake-ID toting 70-odd bingo fanatic's old house as a drug den.

Two own a burger van on the A19.

One puts bricks in her plant-pots to 'hold the trees in'.

One is on the run from the feds.

And the final one is a bearded lady. I shit you not, she's all bristly.

The bearded lady has always labelled me, Cleo and Golden Balls (my bro) as trouble. She's never had a reason to, really. I suppose me leaving  (very very very) faint marks on her stretch of the balcony whilst rollerblading would've been kind annoying seeing as she likes everything to be squeaky clean, (but it was the guy at the end of the balcony whose wall I'd usually crash into that suffered most - knocked all the stuff off his bathroom shelf a million times over) but she has never had any solid reason to hate us.

If there's trouble, it's one of us. If the bin's overflowing, it's us, not the twenty three other families we share it with. The one time that Cleo scratched her name into the bricks on the stairwell, she came knocking. If she sees me going past her house (which I have to, unless I wanted to take an 18-ft dive off the balcony) she always tells me to move on, even though out of pure dislike for the woman I was practically running anyway.

Anyway.

The bearded lady has taken it too far ladies and gents.

She has now installed one of those little buzzer things that make a horrible whining sound that only dogs, children and teenagers can hear.

It's not like I can avoid the damn thing, I have to go to work, go shopping, meet people etc. and everytime I leave the house all I can hear is painfully high-pitched Oh-My-God-It's-Eating-My-Brain shrieking that makes my ears throb.

Stupid woman.

It was much easier when I was three and the neighbour categories fell as: Paedophile, Man Who Works In A Chocolate Factory, Nice Woman Who Nearly Killed Me With Peanuts, and Religious Nuts.

The Religious Nuts are still here as The Brick People (also known as the 'Jesus Rocks! Quarter'). They wrote me off for an atheist at the tender age of four when I saw Jesus on a cross in their house and said 'Jesus has got boobies, look!

"In an ordinary world I'd call this home."

There are things I love and hate about York.



York, collectively, I quite like. The people of York generally suck, espesh those who come into Argos wanting things and being all mardy when I don't jump back on my hind legs and do tricks for their entertainment. (I do my job and I do it well, but some people just go too far.)



Now... Walmgate I do love. Walmgate is my part of York (trust me, no one else would want it) and as such, is probably a complete hole. Most people would tell you that Tang Hall is the worst place in York, and what do I say to that? Bulllllshit. Tang Hall may be rough, but we Walmgateers TOTALLY WIN where drugs/drink/crime is concerned. (TURF WARS!) God, I love it.



I've said before that I love Walmgate and its adorable petty crime (which is oddly characteristic of the place) and I'll just say that it still stands that way. My friend says it's the only place in York where you can light up a spliff in the street and no one'll call you out. Huzzah! I took that as a compliment.



I always blow about how I can't stand being stuck in the same place for years on end but really it's home that keeps my head above the water.

Thanks Walmgate, York. I promise I'll lend you my lighter next time you ask.