Friday, May 01, 2009

Landlords' Idiot Son (Birthday Part 2)

It wasn't too long before the doorbell rang again. I had been out of bed for only a few minutes cavorting around our home in a pair of ill fitting pants, so once again upon hearing the dulcet chimes of our doorbell I raced around the room looking for some clothes wear in order to answer the door. I wearily trudged down the ill kempt lino covered stairs and was disappointed to see that the caller was in fact our landlords’ idiot son standing on our door step with his familiar look of confusion, concern and worry on his scrawny and feebly bearded rat face. He was wearing a spectacularly awful jumper and his usual shabby grey coat.

He alluded to the fact that the grass on our lawn, if you can call it that, needed cutting and asked if he could plug in the lawn mower into one of our power sockets.
We of course reside in the top floor flat, making this request impossible.

I resisted from calling him a dick head.

He said he would ask another tenant, perhaps one on the ground floor, I concurred and went back to the flat to pass on the good news to my better half who rolled her eyes with frustration upon hearing this news that he was here.

As I pottered around the flat, tidying in readiness of an overnight visit by my brother and his better half, I could hear the sound of the Landlords’ son’s lawnmower try to hack its way through the shin high grass and weeds. From our bedroom window I could observe his extremely poor efforts with the contempt his shoddy work deserved.

No sooner had he started when it started to rain, however to my surprise and much to his credit, the landlord’s son persevered with this long over due task.

I watched him from the bedroom window, on my birthday, for a good twenty five minutes whilst he toiled away in the light rain.
I was transfixed.

He had removed his coat and I noticed that his jumper looked more spectacularly awful from this vantage point and thought about him and his life and how it came to be that here, in this lousy flat, he would be here, in his awful jumper, toiling away. I pitied him.

It was only 10.30 am and I looked out earnestly for the next visitor, the Virgin Media Engineer who had promised to arrive between 9am and 1pm. It was going to be a long morning.
My better half brought me a cup of tea and asked politely why I was staring out of the window.
I couldn’t explain.

Gorkys Zygotic Mynci -Mow The Lawn

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