Children are playing, a baby giggles nearby, a dog barks excitedly on the other side of the fence and a chorus of magpies are chirping away. In the near distance a council truck rounds the corner with it’s brakes sporadically complaining and the heavy plastic thud-thuds of wheelie bins being emptied. An aircraft goes overhead which temporarily drowns out the sounds of the traffic from the nearby motorway. Typical sounds of suburbia really… it’s a Tuesday.
She: When are we getting married?
He: Fuckoff! Just fuck off!
She : Wot? Why aren’t we fuckin’ gettin’ married?
He: Why would I wanna marry you? Ya fuckin’ fuckhead.
And so on and so forth. I knew it was too good to last. All has been quiet on The Northern Front for little over a week now and it felt like life as we knew it had been returned to us. I figured that one of them was out of town, or temporarily absent as there have been scant few expletives floating over the fence for the duration. But whether it was Daleyacunt who was away, or FuckinFuckhead who went a-visiting is both unknown and completely irrelevant. They’re back now. And the combative tirade of profanity from next door appears to have resumed – full speed ahead. 😐