w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

Today's lyric:

"She was tall, thin and tarty and she drove a Maserati
Faster than sound
I was heaven bound
Although I must have looked a creep in my army surplus jeep
Was I being too bold?
Before the night could get old."

Rod Stewart: "Italian girls"
From the album: "Never a dull moment"

Arriving home later than usual last night from our postponed Moonwalk practice walk (4.7 miles, so well on schedule for the target 12 of the 13.1 half-marathon) I was inveigled by our Lovely And Undeniable* neighbours to attend a meeting of local residents (no more than an hour, tops).

So, quickly showered and dinnerless, I trekked 100 yards to a house I'd never seen before, to meet 20-odd tweeded and cardiganed 'neighbours' I'd never met in over 15 years of living here.

We'd moved in with our young children - always an ice-breaker - and not once did someone wander down to say "Hi, you need to try this or that school for your kids."

And into a house which had been vacant for several years - always a cause for net-twitching - and no-one came along to recommend this or that shop, or tradesman.

So we soon came to the ineluctable fact that nobody gave a sh1t, and determined to live on in splendid semi-isolation. We know it as the "Fcuk 'em all" mentality.

Now the intention of the supposedly ad-hoc meeting was to harangue two councillors (again, strange faces to this resident) about the speed of traffic using our C-class road and the possibility of reducing it. (Remember, I drive a Mini Cooper, so was this poacher turning gamekeeper?) Was it bolox!

But I had to give one councillor full marks though, for explaining about the diminishing returns of a flashing speed warning. "Is that because the batteries eventually run out?" queried one fcukwit burgher of the parish. Drawing a deep but discreet breath, he instructed "No, it's because motorists quickly learn to ignore it."

There was no laughter. (Well, I did - inside) Such is the populace, evidently.

The same representative of our illustrious society recommended forming an action group, to strengthen the lobbying power for the overwhelming evidence of discontent manifesting itself so vociferously. Well, he didn't actually say that, but if his brains hadn't just been painted on, he would have.

For over an hour and a half, the same subject was churned over and over until, me being me, I ventured that this actually wasn't a new phenomenon, and that before we'd moved in - and therefore 16+ years ago - someone had rounded the corner, scaled the take-off ramp that is our front lawn and flown 20 feet into the fence attached to our house.

"Top that" I thought.

They were also thrilled at the revelation that a certain major supermarket chain can be fined 5,000GBP if the registration number of one of their artics can be recorded and proved to have used our lane as a rat run. Even the beleaguered councillors perked up at that. Net curtains are being laundered right now, in expectation of being the first to dash out from behind them, leap in front of a 32-tonner and claim their 'reward'. Now I'd pay to see that.

Fortunately for me and my now growling stomach, the cavalry arrived in the form of Mrs.D., back from her late night stint down the mines, ringing me on my 'set-to-meeting' moby and warning me that unless I got my sorry ar5e back home, the cats were staking out my steak and Guiness pie and were already lapping the froth off my freshly-poured pint of Blackstuff, which was now screaming at my post-walk-parched throat.

"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen" I reluctantly intoned "Bit of an emergency, gotta go. Keep me in the loop, hey?"

And so LAU* neighbours rang when when they'd eventually made their own escape, to advise me that S***** Lane Action Group had been formed in my absence.

That's one acronym that'll keep me amused for, ooh, hours.

And I wasn't even present at the birth...