Monday, January 18, 2010

It Resolves Itself As Expected.

And is probably nowhere near as interesting as people have imagined.

I’d always had my suspicions about ex-friend and ex-landlord Seven-Foot Sociopath.

Yes he’s very tall. Yes he spends an awful lot of time at the gym. Yes he favours ‘survivalist’ combat attire. Yes he has an alarming collection of knives and guns, as well as tattoos and piercings. Claims to know ‘some things’ about explosives.

But I get the feeling he’s a tourist. I know one properly mental man like this – but without the unnecessary tatts and holes in his face – and I know the real deal when I see it.

And I’d seen Seven-Foot back down from a couple of confrontational situations in the past.

“Scared of the damage I might do mate.”

Ok then. Maybe.

“Bullshit aside, we’re always mates and you’ve got to do what’s best for you. No hard feelings.” He said upon my leaving him in the lurch with his horrible flat when I moved out.

I leave his poxy gaff in much better condition than I first encountered it, and take his two large ceramic plant-pots (planters?) with me. The bulbs I planted in them cost a fortune, made the patio look ‘pretty’ and I couldn’t be arsed with the re-planting when I had sofas to move. He’s in Paris, I thought. I’ll get them back to him when I have a minute. They’ve been obviously unused for years so I doubt it’s a problem.

Five Days Ago.

I am at work, it is the middle of the afternoon.

For reasons that I shall get to another time, my little sister is renting my spare room. She is self-employed, cannot work because of the fucking weather and is at home when one would imagine my house to be empty.

There is some commotion outside my back-yard.

There is no ‘road’ on my street as it is a terrace of what used to be called ‘miners cottages’ that I believe are peculiar to the North of England. The door to our back-yard is open and Sis spies Seven-Foot in his perpetually non-road-worthy ridiculous bull-horned four wheel drive idiot wank-tank vehicle STUCK on the access road behind my home and spinning his wheels.

Sis: Seven-Foot! Do you want a hand? I’ve got a shovel.

She’s made a small side-line in digging stranded vehicles out of the virtually 45-degree slope of an access road behind my house and could do this in her sleep. (She’s more of a man than I am in this regard. I mean. I just couldn’t be bothered. You know.)


Sis: If you’re sure. I don’t mind.


At this point in hearing the story I begin to wonder what the hell he’s doing behind my house anyway. It’s an access road, doesn’t lead anywhere and he doesn’t know anyone on my street.


Sis: Look. Are you sure you don’t want some help….


Sister proceeds to retreat to the house, make herself a cup of tea and watches Seven-Foot struggle FOR A SOLID HOUR to get his foolish over-powered behemoth of an impractical vehicle moving.

As I say, not as interesting as it could have been but an Event nonetheless; nothing much happens to me.

I reflect upon Sister’s story. This much is obvious:

Seven-Foot knows what street I have moved to. As opposed to utilizing my phone number like an adult man, he has taken it upon himself to do some sort of imagined SAS-style rescue mission to liberate his fucking plant pots. And has embarrassed himself terribly.

I, on the other hand, am quite cross about this.

He can lurk about the back of my house to his hearts content. I live behind the police station and have seen said police attempt to move my new neighbours on if they take more than twenty seconds to open their front door. And on top of that I can take care of myself.

That’s not the problem. He’s been rude to a member of my family. A girl. A girl better physically equipped to take care of herself than me admittedly, but a girl nonetheless.

And I’m not fucking having it.

I scratch my head for a bit.

I could call him. A sort of ‘If I fucking see you anywhere near my home’ sort of conversation that will end in some bullshit masculine shouting and get nowhere. I could text him. Some sort of ‘odd coincidence you being out the back of my house’ passive-aggressive shit that I’m not so fond of these days.

Or I could leave it. Because it’s silly and it WILL blow over. There’s no point getting worked up when he’s embarrassed himself already.

But that would be ‘backing-down’ by default.

And he was rude to my sister. If I leave it I’ll have let that pass. And that isn’t ‘how I roll’.

Four Days Ago.

I send a simple text. “Give me a call when you get a second.”

Not aggressive as such but not friendly. I am pleased with the tone. It’s not threatening. It’s not pleasant.

Three Days Ago.

“Perhaps he’s busy.” Says my Sister.

Two Days Ago.

“Really fucking busy.” I think to myself.


No word.

I suspect the same response tomorrow. And if I receive an invite to meet in him in a deserted car-park I would take it because he’s been rude to someone I care about and backing-down is not one of my big things.

But it seems my original suspicions were right. A coward. Brave enough to be aggressive to a girl in her twenties but not able to muster the courage to get back to her big brother who is actually half her size.

Case closed.

Absolute nonsense and anti-climax.


Blogger Debster said...

Yeah a lot of guys like that. Maybe you should hook him up with the bully diary lady?

11:27 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

I doubt that's the way ahead but thanks.

11:30 pm  
Anonymous Em said...

Seven-Foot Sociopath sounds a delight. Just for fun you could let the police know that you've seen someone of his discription Lurking About, then invite him over late one night to pick up his planters(!) and if all goes according to plan... he's done for.

I've been watching a bit much telly probably.

3:48 am  
Blogger Shane said...

A vehicle roars a thousand words.

And you still have a face. With features.

9:23 am  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Em: I barely watch television myself and had the exact same thought.

S: Indeed.

1:34 pm  
Blogger Sewmouse said...

Are they particularly NICE planters, or just something you stuck bulbs into?

And I, for one, would not abandon you simply due to lack of teh funnay - I enjoy reading your writings.

5:13 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Sew: Just basic pots really. You'd have thought they were made of emeralds after all this nonsense.

And thanks.

6:18 pm  
Anonymous Fat Rick said...

I, for another, could not give the tiniest shadow of a toss as to whether you are currently bringing teh funnay or not. I started reading you because somebody said "read this post, it's funny". It's not why I carried on. You're bloody good at this. Honest.

9:22 pm  
Anonymous Meg McG said...

I like Em's idea...
And maybe you could get a camera and post a video of it on YouTube.

1:00 am  
Blogger Four Dinners said...

Much more fun for us readers if you go round his place and thump him.

Admittedly you may get locked up as a result...but much more fun for us? could claim you were defending your sister from a large nutter?

..Just a thought.

I don't get many and try to ignore the one's I do...

1:42 am  
Blogger punxxi said...

I'm with Dinners!

2:41 am  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

6:37 am  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Fat Rick: Hello and welcome. And thanks.

Meg: And 'hello' to you. Apologies though: this won't be happening.

Dinners/Punx: See above. Sadly I have not the physical stature to be 'thumping' anyone. And if I really want to make someone's life unpleasant there are other ways of going about it.

6:38 am  
Blogger punxxi said...

Of course there are other ways around it TD, there are Italians for hire.

9:08 pm  
Blogger Debster said...

What Fat Rick said.

11:13 pm  
Blogger Carnalis said...

Men can be very sensitive about their vehicles not performing.

i always enjoy your posts that involve your sister. I miss my sister.

9:57 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

P: Not really what I had in mind.

D: Thanks.

C: I hope that isn't as sad as it sounds.

9:51 pm  
Blogger Carnalis said...

No, i didn't mean it that way. She moved to Sydney.

5:18 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

I knew that didn't I? Sorry, things on my mind at the minute.

8:14 pm  

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