Folks, when I was younger, I was exactly the sort of person I wouldn’t like living next door to me now.
But that all changed years ago when I became a new father and uninterrupted sleep became more precious than gold. And it started the night some inconsiderate moron sat outside our house continuously beeping his horn trying to attract his, obviously deaf, mate across the way.
We’d just managed to get to sleep after another marathon shift with our crying offspring, when we were rudely awakened by his noise. Levitating from the bed, I raced across the lawn in my pyjama shorts, leaped the fence and wrenched open Mr. Beepy’s door. “Get Out!” I roared, because I sincerely wished to engage in some footpath pugilism with him.
Mr. Beepy unfolded himself from his small car, he was seven feet tall and rippling with muscle. I had nothing, literally nothing, in my tiny arsenal of tricks to so much as scratch him, let alone hurt him. Mr. Beepy knew it too, and grinned.
Happily, just before I was placed into a fist induced coma, the cavalry arrived in the shape of a little old lady from down the road. She slapped his arm, which was thicker than my thigh, and shrieked, “Who do you think you are?!” This existential question must have confused Mr. Beepy, because his brow furrowed.
Then Mr. Beepy’s mate appeared, “What’s going on?!” he yelled, and was immediately set upon by four and a half feet of fury. Fortunately, the rest of the ‘Overhill The Hill Gang’ materialised, dressed to kill in their robes, curlers and fluffy slippers.
Now, things might have really gone downhill at this point, but they weren’t bad lads really, just thoughtless yobs, so they quickly retreated while the oldies jeered them off. It was like watching a herd of sheep ambush a pair of marauding wolves.
Peace returned to our street, but something was different, the neighbourhood had changed and it couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go back now.
Honestly folks, it’s a good thing I didn’t live there when I was younger.