Imaginary Neighbours 1
Random Character idea.
“Oh hello, good morning. I’m Mrs Daley from number forty-eight. You can call me Margaret. I live down the road. I watched you and your young lady friend moving in to your new home. I hope you’ve both settled in well.
It’s ok, don’t invite me in. No, no, no; I was only joking. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. Have you got a light, I’ve left mine at home? Oh wait, silly me, I’ve found it. It was right here in my coat pocket. Do you mind if I smoke; would you like one?
So how old do you think I am? 45! Oh no, don’t be silly! Do you really think I look 45? I can see why that young lady fell for your charms. I can barely remember being 45.
See these shoes? Our Maureen, that’s my daughter, bought me these shoes in Mauritius. She said the blue reminded her of the hand bag she got me the year before last. I’ve stepped out in these every rainy day for the last year, and they are as comfortable as you wouldn’t believe. She bought me a big bag of blue shoelaces from a young Arab. I think she said he was an Arab, or maybe she said a coloured boy. My Frank would know, I’ll have to ask him when I get in.
She still talks about it too! If you ever meet our Maureen you can bet your hat she’ll tell you about the young Arab or coloured boy who sold her the shoelaces. He lived near the hotel and could get you anything you need. Maureen says he was lovely, so polite like you wouldn’t believe.
And he... oh, ha ha; what am I thinking? I’m not even wearing my blue shoes. I’d forget my hands if I didn’t keep them in my pockets! These slippers are a lovely shade of yellow, don’t you think? Cornflour yellow... no, that’s not it. Wait, don’t tell me, it’ll come back to me... Chartreuse! A lovely shade of chartreuse yellow. At least they were when I got them. Looks like they could do with a bit of a clean. I suppose that’s what I get for wandering about down the street in them, isn’t it!
I don’t like to put those shoes on when I’m just popping out. I’m not as flexible as I used to be, and there’s a lot of laces to do up. My fingers ache, and I can’t stretch, and my bunions are throbbing like you won’t believe. Listen to me talking on; you don’t want to hear about my bunions, do you? My Frank get’s enough of it, but do I get any sympathy off him. No I don’t. All he ever wants to talk about is his bloody haemorrhoids. He doesn’t like me telling people about them, but he doesn’t half go on about them.
I hope you’ll be a gentleman and look after your young ladies feet when you’re both our age. And if you’re lucky she’ll be kind enough to rub a bit of cream on your sore nether regions, God forbid! Oh, listen to me will you! Margaret the poor lad will think you’ve gone do-lally!
I just stopped by to give you this welcome present. It’s a cake, I baked it myself. Our Cheryl had a bit of milk left over after giving her Terry a feed. She’s trying to wean him of breast feeding, so she uses one of those pumps to relieve the pressure. She’s just like her grandmother! I couldn’t stop producing the stuff when I was nursing. I was so swollen and tender, but you didn’t talk about things like that in those days. Not like now where you can’t keep anything private. Young women telling the world about their private doings like they have no shame at all. I hope your young lady has a bit of decorum; I’m sure she does, she looks lovely.
So if you’re ever in need of a spot of milk, just pop round to ours. We’ve usually got a drop or two of our Cheryl’s to spare. I’ll leave this cake with you. Hang on to the box and I’ll pop by and get it next time I’m here. It’s been lovely speaking to you; you seem like such a nice young lad. Ta-ra!”