Leggings – The 3 P's

Leggings – The 3 P's

A week of highlights and let downs, and which is mixed with mini-panics...

A new voice – or at least one I haven't heard for a while, that of my second husband, totally drunk, or just plain sick upstairs. Sounds like he's curled up on the floor. One night in the week, a trio of men came inside, in the early hours and began a laughing loud conversation directly overhead.

The first was a Cockney, P. de le Lorries, the second was just banging Pestilence, in public, and the third was another who I couldn't get... a handle for... it may have been a Mussolini. We have plenty in the village and to be truthful so is my second husband, to one side.. or other. He's an ex, many years back now – and he was linked to an injunction for violence towards us. Not a nice man once drunk. A shame altogether.

A small man, Pulchritude, always too ill to be able to do much was shouting at them intermittently, between bouts of sickness... “Stop it,” he yelled, half begging, and jumping on the spot... “Stop! It's too quiet now, its half past two... you'll wake them all up!”

They pushed by him, and thrust him aside, “Shut up old man!”

The sick man on the floor, was raised up violently, “Come on, get up!”

“I don't want too!” he rasped out, “If I get up I'll...” His voice died again.

P. De Le Lorries laughed at him, “Come on,” he said, his voice jovial, “I know what your problem is, so we'll all pee on her flowers together! You can pee, I can pee,we can all pee...”

I shuddered listening. The window opened, three men started to pee... like burning oil it leaves a stain... Poor Apple tree... poor flowers... whatever next?

Two days later the stain is self evident. It appears they missed the pot!

I have heard it said, that the Mussolini's are up for the Duchy, on account of me being not able to walk properly or wear a coronet... I'm not sure why this is? Cruel fate... for the people of Gloucester. It's a funny thing, the last time I went there, they recognised me. Isn't that totally amazing, since I was so different in my colouring as a child.

Anyway, the Mussolini's are trying to split up the loot after taking all the mail, and arranging things

around them. They've given Dragon Hall away to a needy person for the great job they've done... Don't ask me what however... or why they should have any right to do so!

From next door they are they are trying to get me to go to Stoke-on-Trent, which I've refused to do..

Apparently I could have the old air-force camp there, where they used to live, plus a lot of company so no one ever guesses who I am, and that makes it easier for them to steal my writing... as well.

I speak up. “No I want Dragon Hall back!”

J Mussolini's replies, “We gave that away, you can't have it. You'd be happier in Stoke-on-Trent!”

I laugh at her and her grotty daughter who is snivelling about how I can't do anything about it.. cos' they are the Mussolini's and the most important family ever. Some one should check on her age, etc., she isn't what she advertises... From further away old Maria Hitler is wowing her behaviours.

Her wrinkles are pulling away down her chin, and her whole face is getting an uplift. It's not often she finds something to laugh at.

In Scarborough the Mussolini's took new surnames all beginning with an M.

“You're here under licence only and restricted by your behaviour!” I point out I only wish someone would enforce it, and remove them all to Italy. 'The Pope I'm sure, might love the challenge. Even if he has to watch where his post goes... daily.

N.B. Some local lad has just been to visit Maisie in care home... I had a strange moment when I heard him say it... How odd. How many Maisie's are there?