Days of wine and roses

Ah, the neighbours. This lunchtime they were happily sitting together on their patio having a friendly drink. As I write, they are engaged in a particularly (even by their standards) vicious row. Tonght's recurring theme is Mr DDF's assertion that Mrs DDF is, beyond any reasonable doubt, an arsehole. He is particularly keen that she understand this, and is bellowing it at her repeatedly lest she may mishear and think he is telling her how much he loves her. Interspersing the spirited cries of "you're an arsehole!!", "you're an arsehole!!", the old favourite "why don't you just die?" is naturally included. I can't tell you what her response is to this, as she's simply making a high-pitched shrieking noise and repeatedly slamming the back door. I live in a mental home. Last week I was convinced that Farting Man had died upstairs and left a bath running, as his overflow had been running continuously for two days. I was reassured of his fine physical health on Friday morning when, on the stroke of seven (and I mean on the stroke. He's like the bloke with the ship's cannon on his roof in Mary Poppins) he let rip with a magnificent aural display of flatulence. Eerily, his morning routine mirrors mine and it's more than a little unnerving to hear him sloshing around in his bath above me as I'm having mine, or, worse, weeing while I am. I say eerily, but the thought has just struck me that maybe he's crawling around up there like Christopher Ecclestone in Shallow Grave. And on Friday night I was banging on my bedroom wall with a large book at 11.45pm in a snarling, weeping frenzy in an effort to get Stephen Hawking to switch the fucking thing off and let me sleep.

This evening, the Other Half is off schmoozing some Chermans at a Very Nice Restaurant. I had soup and toast for dinner. How impossibly glamorous. I've spent a futile half hour trying to order BT Broadband because I am sick to death of the ridiculously clunky dialup connection I have, only to find that my dialup is so clunky that I can't even download the computer checking thingy. I fear a global conspiracy - that'll teach me for denouncing the Da Vinci Code as a pile of badly-written shite.

In other news, there was a bug-related incident in Small Person's bedroom this evening. I don't know what it was but we stayed well away until the Other Half arrived and swiftly dispatched it. The reason it's notable is that nobody has any idea what it was. It was green, but it wasn't a grasshopper, despite having great big elbowy legs. The Other Half thought it was a pider, but it didn't have enough great big elbowy legs. And it was green. It put me in mind of Granny Cheshire's pond and water-boatmen, but if it was one of those it was seriously off track. So, does anyone have any ideas?

Nothing scary though, thanks - I have enough mental health issues as it is.