Dear Neighbour with the Feral Children,
Are you on crack?
Do you actually know where your children are or have you taken leave of your senses?
Let me fill you in, neighbour.
Your little rapscallions are currently running amok in MY garden.
Had you intended on appointing me as your new babysitter? It’s just that, I didn’t get the memo (or the pay), and even if I had got the memo, I would’ve ripped it to shreds and thrown it back in your face.
Except that’s just it, I rarely see your face. I’ve no doubt you’re happily foraging for Quality Street down the side of an armchair that bears a permanent imprint of your lazy backside; a nice hot cup of coffee in hand and enjoying an episode or 5 of Judge Rinder, while your devil spawn are plundering through my property and being a bad influence on my angelic children.
Your offspring have also been asking me for biscuits. I’m reluctant to feed them for fear it will encourage them to return. Can you not at least feed them before turning them out onto the streets to roam wild?
Why don’t you make use of that garden you’ve got going on and let your kids play there? Oh and here’s a handy tip – gates work most effectively when closed, and locked, and …perhaps add some barbed wire? Spruce the place up a bit? Bit of barbed wire would go well with that decorative miniature wheelbarrow you’ve got flowers dying in at your front door.
Anyway, I digress, back to the matter at hand.
I haven’t even touched on the horrific ordeal of when your 3 feral children somehow infiltrated my actual house and had a nice little play with my children’s toys. One dragged his snotty nostrils down the glass pane of my door and the other, having made the long journey from 2 houses down, positively had to have a shite in my downstairs toilet.
Marigolds and a copious amount of Dettol spray helped me overcome the bacterial trauma of your unruly offspring but the emotional impact will be with me forever.
My children of course see it as nothing other than having “friends” round to play. And I will not be the one to ruin their fun. But neighbour, let me tell you, we are not friends. Your brazen sub-leasing of your children to me, against my will, for the afternoon is not the stuff of a blossoming friendship.
I already have 3 children and there’s a reason I chose to have 3 children – because it’s 3 short of having 6 children that’s why.
So please, please keep your boisterous brood off my property; I’m not above telling them that I have a child-eating orang-utan hidden in the cupboard.
The Cantankerous and Intolerant Woman from 2 doors up.