How’s the going, like? We’re all sound here in Tuscany Downs in Cork, where we don’t have no water meters and we won’t neither. Ever. Over my dead body.
I’m getting dirty looks from yerwan next door but it’s not my fault that she let the water run out on the road so that there was a sheet of ice outside her gate. Lucky nobody was killed. Tommy could have banged his head or anything. He could have an acute subdural haematoma, or something. Look what happened to Cilla Black, like. If there’s culpability, there’s culpability – it’s in the lawyer’s hands now, I’ll let justice take its course. They’ll settle anyway, they always do.
That’s deadly news about David Bowie. Between himself, Lemmy and that English actor from Harry Potter, it’s getting scary. Jesus if cancer killed all them, there’s no hope for the rest of us. Especially with excuse for a health service we have in this country. I keep telling Sharon that we should all go vegan, and cut out the transfats, meats, dairy and all the processed food but no way, José. Isn’t that gas that the Spanish say ‘hosay’, and the Portuguese say ‘josay’. I never knew that until José took over Chelsea the first time. A disgrace that they sacked him if you ask me, after what he done for the club. Of course his full name is: José Mário dos Santos Mourinho Félix – not a lot of people know that, as Michael Caine used to say. Or that he’s a Portuguese Knight.
Anyway, still no sign of the water meter installers, even though Donie saw a Murphy’s van over in the Heights before Christmas. I’m telling you now. The second – the split second, man – they show up here I’ll have twenty people blocking that entrance and they’re not getting in, end of. I’ve a Group set up on the phone and all. Not that my so called neighbours will be any help to me. I’m after asking them all and not one, not one, would back me up with the picket. Bunch of Muppets if you ask me. They’ll all be cribbing and crying in a few years when it’s a thousand quid or something for the water – going to some private company, taking it out of their wages and pensions like that thing in America, what-you-may-call-it. Garnishing, that’s it. Heard about it in a podcast. That’ll be the next thing here now if we don’t mind our civil liberties.
It’s five years nearly to the day since we’re here in Tuscany Downs now. Unbelievable. I know we could have stayed where we were and all, like, but no way, man. Property was the best investment we could have done at the time, they all said it and after I got the compensation for that accident, I’d have only frittered it all away or else she’d have got a hold of it and God only knows where it would have ended up. And the value of the house is up 150K now at least. It was worth it too to see the face on that Judge when I told him he sent my brother away twice for robbery – his new neighbour! He’s not so high and mighty now. And the face on Sharon’s Mam too when we told her, pure jealousy – and all the stick I got from her over the years. That showed her.
I’ve my eye on that black family over, I can’t ever remember their name. Nigerian anyway, he told me the one time I could nab him to get some information out of him. I know they’re only renting but I’d love to know who’s paying for it and how much. I’ve nothing against them or nothing, but what about all the Irish families who are homeless, like? The same with all them refugees now from Syria and half of them are probably jihadists anyway, for all we know. I’m not racist or nothing but you have to look after your own first, like. He wouldn’t tell me where he worked too, but I think he might have a taxi or a cab or something. Half the taxi drivers in Cork are black now as far as I can see.
Not to mention them students, they’re all on grants too, I’ll bet, even though their fathers are rich farmers and stuff. You’d want to see the size of the cars dropping them on Sunday nights. Fine Gael will look after them anyway. Can’t wait for them chancers to knock on the door when the election is called, Jesus, they’re going to get some land when I show them their Manifesto from the last election, what I kept – Kenny’s ugly mug on the cover and all. The amount of lies and false promises on it, I have them marked and all. I have it kept, handy in the drawer in the hall – the look on their faces, I can’t wait.
Between them and the water meters and them pollsters, no way are they going to pull the wool over my eyes. And that census shower can shag off too, if they think I’m going to give them ANY information about me and my family for their ‘data collection’. Yea, right. As if. We all know what that’s going to be used for. More privatisation and selling off the birth-right of the nation that good men fought and died for a hundred years ago. That’s another thing – Jesus, don’t start me.
And that’s all the news from Tiffany Downs. Where no way is there ever going to be a water meter, Fine Gael are going to get some land when they call and we’ll celebrate 1916 in style, so we will, next Easter.
