Anti-Social Behaviour

House Party

by Enormous on August 5, 2009

The violent monkey-man who lived next door has moved out.

He had a ‘party’ with some of his stylish gentleman friends on Saturday night to celebrate his departure. It got very out of hand. There was noise, destruction on a grand scale and intimidation on a small scale.

He and and mates from ‘oop narth’ managed to: play drum-and-bass music loud enough to shake the foundations of the houses of his neighbours (including me) until three o’clock in the morning; destroy the fence that separates his garden from mine and, along with the new pine decking from his neighbour on the other side, burn it in a big bonfire; and threaten the wife of the aforementioned neighbour-on-the-other-side with a tight fist and gnashing teeth if she even thought about calling the police.

She didn’t call the police. Neither did I. We were too frightened to get involved.

The next morning we surveyed the damage together and decided that it could have been a lot worse. No one was injured and our houses escaped with only minor damage considering the fury of the ‘celebrations’.

‘That’s life,’ she told me.

I had to agree with ironic resignation that sadly, these days, it often is.

Crowds of gloating onlookers gathered throughout the day on Sunday to tut and shake their heads in arch wonder.

Along with the general Mongol Hordes of the village and their mentally disabled children, there was a constant stream of squawking teenagers whose comments had a sad calculation to them. ‘Not so clever now, are we?’ one of them shouted at me as I was picking up empty bottles, bricks and pieces of stained wood that once constituted my garden fence. He smiled broadly at his girlfriend as if he had just uttered the most profound and hilarious comment ever known in the history of mankind.

‘Oh go home and tidy your hormones,’ I told him, drily.

I think he probably did.

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This Vehicle Is Alarmed

by Enormous on April 30, 2009

Your bloody vehicle will be alarmed when I start smashing its bloody windows with my hammer, you moron.

Ban car alarms now; tear them from every vehicle and deposit them in the nearest incinerator.

You have my express permission to start with the one on the Volvo belonging to the gurning git with limited mental acuity living at number 47 who thinks it’s hilariously amusing to disturb his neighbours every fifteen minutes with his faulty shriek-machine, his impossibly ugly face that looks like a dislocated knee, and his bad breath which pervades every house on the street.

(If you are the git from number 47 and you are reading this – if you can read: yes, I mean you. Clown.)

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Spit and Polish

by Enormous on March 22, 2009

I wish people – well, men, I suppose – would not expectorate in public quite so freely around here.

Audrey stepped in a grotesque lump of glowing mucus when we left the house this morning; and a few minutes later I had to dodge flying spittle while I listened to a speech from Reg on the folly of the present government’s immigration policy (he blames all the Polish people of the village who he says could ‘spit for Poland at the Olympics’).

He delivered a colourful and passionate discourse on the subject which was punctuated by him absent-mindedly depositing monstrous gobs of luminous saliva everywhere in a rather enthusiastic and festive manner. Disgusting, and all too common.

Changing the subject, I have just posted a version of The Way That It Should Be on the Enormous website/blog. This is the version of the song that appears on the album Almost Everything. Look out for a totally different version of it on the new album which is due for release in the summer.

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Breaking The Cycle

by Enormous on March 5, 2009

I love it when the local gang of teenage girls – who always seem to have recently bathed in the latest Eau de Bubblegum perfume – hang around the entrance to the park in the evenings, making rude and lascivious comments as one tries to get past them with one’s hairy dog.

‘Got any fags?’ ‘Is your dog a bitch?’ ‘Can you ‘elp Harriet fix ‘er bike, mister?’ ‘Are you still a gay?’

They were holding a bicycle and it was damaged; the chain had come loose. I thought for a moment: shall I help and put it back on for them, these annoying girls who only want to torment and embarrass me?

Then Harriet stepped forward out of the group. She was considerably older than her friends and very, very beautiful.

‘I would be very grateful if you would give me a hand,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘The oil plays havoc with my nails.’ She spoke in educated and mellifluous tones; it was music to my ears – and other essential parts of my anatomy.

‘Of course. Are you . . . ?’ I gestured toward the other grinning teens.

‘Oh, they’re my group,’ she laughed, ‘I’m their youth worker. We’re out for a cycle ride around the park but I’m the only one who arrived with any transport – I should have anticipated something like this happening. I tried improvising by just giving them a quick lesson on bicycle maintenance and my bloody chain came off.’

‘I know the feeling,’ I told her. ‘Mine came off years ago.’

She was lovely, actually. I should have asked her out.

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Teenage Kicks

by Enormous on February 23, 2009

I’d like to congratulate the thoughtful teenage tearaways who wandered down our street on Friday evening pouring paintstripper on parked cars.

Thanks, guys; without your considerate actions my neighbours would have nothing to talk about all day – and I would not have had the opportunity to be questioned for thirty minutes by a twelve-year-old policeman who couldn’t string three words together this morning while I was trying to do my work.

Luckily, they missed my car completely but Susan and Allen at number 29 had a lovely surprise when they arose on Saturday to find their new Mini Cooper liberally covered in the stuff, likewise the people at number 27 and 25 and others all the way down the street to the bottom of the hill.

Ah, teenagers, don’t you just love ‘em?

(I still reckon it’s a good job that, in this country, it is illegal to own a gun.)

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Party Fears Two

by Enormous on July 2, 2008

There were more celebrations somewhere on the other side of the rec’ last night. Audrey and I hate it when there is a house party nearby.

We do not enjoy the shouting, the horrible thumping music, or the inevitable screaming and brawling in the early hours that round these occasions off.

All of that pales into insignificance, however, when the revellers go the whole hog and set light to endless volleys of Satan’s playthings: fireworks.

I have written numerous times about how the explosions and flashes and cracking noises frighten my little dog and about how I think the detestable things should be banned – or their general sale better controlled, at least. I won’t repeat myself, but I will ask you this: if you are considering holding some kind of celebration tonight or this weekend, please think twice about using fireworks; it can be a terrifying and traumatic experience for pets and other animals.

On a more positive note, my hairy companion and I are both cheered by the fact that on Saturday evening after rehearsals we shall be looking into eyes that are blue and knowing.

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White Dopes on Punk

by Enormous on June 18, 2008

Aren’t teenagers great.

Whilst wandering through the park with Audrey yesterday evening, a group of adolescents dressed as a cross between Marilyn Manson and street urchins from Oliver Twist, thought it would be fun to shout abuse at us from the relative safety of the dilapidated bandstand in which they had ensconced themselves to smoke joints, drink cider and practice their spitting. To complete their entertainment for the evening, one of them had thoughtfully supplied a large beat-box, out of which US punks Green Day were blaring followed by Jay-Z, shouty American Gangster and rap artist, who was declaring: ‘I’m livin’ the dream!’

It was obvious that most of them had not yet learned how to form sentences but one ambitious young female seemed to have at least a basic grasp of the English language and had apparently decided that she would practice its use on passers-by in general and on me in particular. ‘Dirty Pedo!’ was her opening statement which she followed with: ‘My little sister says she saw you in that bus-stop having a wank and touchin’ yer beano. Pedo! She’s told me dad an’ e’s told t’coppers! Yer f***ing pedo!’

We hurried quickly along, trying to ignore the strident volleys of ‘Pedo!’ and ‘Wanker!’ and ‘Kiddie-fiddler!’

How I laughed! It was so amusing, I thought I might invite a German from the Internet around to the house later in the day to eat me.

I just caught the last of the abuse as we were leaving the park and turning the corner into Victoria Street: ‘Do yer ‘ave sex wiv’ yer dog? Pedo!’ The last thing I heard was: ‘I’m telling me dad yer waved yer dandy at me!’ (I think the word was ‘dandy’, I suppose it could have been any number of things, really.)

I know they have a lot of unexpended energy, but why do these youngsters behave in such a disagreeable way to their fellow citizens? Is it a form of seduction? Perhaps they actually quite like me and can think of no other way of introducing themselves. Or, more likely, it is a territorial impulse and they are simply scenting their ground, marking out their patch. Who knows?

I was mulling these things over in my mind after we had returned to the house. While I was making a cup of Earl Grey in the kitchen, I came to the conclusion that these unfortunate children are merely bored and, due to the depressing environment in which they exist and their uninspired and deprived upbringing, have learned no other way of expressing themselves. Stirring the tea, I spilled some of the boiling liquid on to my thumb. ‘Pedo!’ I yelled at the steaming mug before me.

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