Sunday, 5 September 2010

A Whole New Dimension to Putting the Bins Out, Thanks to Annoying Ellen the Sex-Pest. Oh, and Teacher..

God, I am getting as blind as a bat. How are you supposed to pluck your eyebrows (or anything else) when you can't see them without glasses - even in a 25x magnifying mirror? God knows how many stray chin hairs are escaping my notice.

I need to get a better-paid job, so that I can start going to a beauty salon, like everyone else seems to. I have no idea how I'm going to tidy myself up sufficiently to pass inspection by Johnny. Maybe I can steal his glasses, and solve the problem that way.

Max doesn't appear to be having any trouble with his eyesight, though I bloody well wish he was. Tonight, he's about to take the rubbish out, ready for tomorrow's refuse collection, when - amazingly - Josh decides to be helpful and offers to do it instead. Well, it is late and Max does look tired, but even so, I'm not used to Josh being considerate. Maybe this is how it's going to be now he's left school?

"No, don't worry, I'll do it," says Max.

"Max," I say. "Are you mad? Josh - Josh - is voluntarily offering to do a household task, and you are turning him down?"

"Well, he'll probably fall over something in the dark," says Max. "And what with his arm, and everything..."

Josh is about as contrary as the usual suspects. If you refuse him anything, even something he doesn't really want, it immediately becomes irresistible. He grabs the bin bag from Max's hand, and heads out of the back door. Max looks really annoyed for a minute, and almost goes out after him, but then he just sits down heavily on the couch, and starts doing a Sudoku puzzle.

Josh is gone for what seems like ages, and just as I am about to go out looking for him, I hear the back door slam, and his footsteps along the hallway. He's shouting,

"Dad. Dad!"

"What?" says Max, as Josh comes into the room.

"Now I see why you wanted to take the bins out yourself. Bloody hell!"

Max is suddenly very red in the face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says.

"You bloody well do," says Josh.

"Well, I definitely don't," I say. "So could someone please enlighten me?"

"Come with me," says Josh, and drags me outside, along the garden path, and out of the the back gate. It's pretty dark, and I can't see where I'm treading, so I get a bit anxious.

"What am I looking out for, Josh?" I say. "I can't see a thing."

"Sshh!" says Josh. "Look up."

'Oh, my God," I say. "Is that what I think it is? Or rather, who I think it is?"

"Ellen?" says Josh. "Yeah. I saw her face when she first put the light on. Before she pulled the curtains in front of it."

"But she's naked," I say. "And why's she pressed against the glass?"

"Oh, I think the answer to that is obvious," says Josh.

If I had any eggs left after the Yorkshire puddings, I'd throw them at that bloody woman's window. What the hell does she think she's doing? And is this (presumably regular) floor show only for Max's benefit, or is it aimed at any of the neighbours who might be putting out their rubbish?

"Max! How often has that f*cking woman done this?" I may be yelling a little too loudly, as suddenly Ellen jerks backwards, and shuts her curtains properly. I have startled her, unless she's just achieved what she wanted. Yuck.

"Hush," says Max. "Come inside. You're making a spectacle of yourself."

"I am making a spectacle of myself? I am? What about that bloody lunatic?" God, I'm angry. I wouldn't mind so much if Ellen didn't always pretend that it she is my friend, and that Max is merely tolerated as my husband. I'm so angry that I accidentally burst into tears - I have been doing far too much crying this week. Then I remember the girls with cancer, and I get a grip.

"Okay, tell me the whole story," I say. "How long has she been doing this, and how many times?"

"No more than four or five," says Max. "That I've noticed."

"Oh, I think you'd notice. How did it start?" I am starting to feel icily calm now.

"One night I was taking out the rubbish and I smacked the bin bag into the gate, so it made a noise. Then something caught my eye, and I saw Ellen naked at the window. I think she was trying to fasten it."

"Oh really? Did she dive out of the way once she spotted you?"

"Well, no - now you come to mention it." Max sounds genuinely surprised. "But I looked away really fast anyway, 'cause I was worried she'd think I'd been spying on her."

"Dad, she's been playing you," says Josh. "You are an idiot. You should've said something."

It comes to something when teenagers are smarter than their parents, doesn't it? I take a deep breath, think again about the girls with cancer, then say,

"Okay. So when were you going to tell me about it, if ever?"

"I kept hoping it'd stop. And the longer it went on, the more impossible it got to tell you, as I thought you'd flip out and go round and smash her door down or something."

Max might be right about this, actually. I'm feeling pretty tempted to take some sort of direct action. He continues,

"And anyway, I don't think she just does it to me. I reckon she lies in wait for any of the men around here on bin night."

Good God. And Ellen is a teacher. Maybe she should change her subject specialism and start teaching sex education. It seems as if that'd be right up her street. Though talking of streets, I wish she wouldn't give practical bloody demonstrations on ours. I have no idea what to do about this, so I am going to sleep on it. In the absence of any eggs.


  1. I love this blog. Having successfully weaned myself off Eastenders and Corrie you are my daily soap opera. Keep up the good work :-)

  2. Ha, thanks - I think ;-) Rather worried my life is turning into a soap opera, though. They rarely seem to end well!

  3. This bin day stip belongs on youtube, fortuitously allowing Josh to capitalise on his media studies skills, adding published film maker to his CV and huge entertainment value for the rest of us. Although...that could be playing *right* into Annoying Ellen's disrobed hands...
    BG Xx

  4. Good idea! Possibly with details of where she teaches attached?!

  5. Oh of course. Where would the fun be if all her pupils and colleagues weren't the first to discover her?!