Saturday - A day of whines and poseurs….

Saturday dawned bright, warm and sunny – and it’s only mid March!

Is that normal? Surely not…..

I’m standing in the garden, resplendent in my Hawaiian shirt and shorts ensemble, bathing in the warm reflected glory of the big guy in the sky. Fantastic. One part of me – Mr Cerebral, is worried about the future, tut-tutting at yet more evidence of Global warming and potential environmental catastrophe. The other half of me – Mr Neanderthal with a liking for bacon butties, beer, lads mags, footy and more beer says "Sunny hot days in March? Bring it on baby – and while you’re bringing it on, get us a few ice cool beers…..

The thing is – which ‘Mr’ is out today? I look down to my podgy digits. They’re fastened round my breakfast, is it cerebral and croissants? Nah – it’s a big, thick bacon butty and a dollop of HP sauce. Mr Neanderthal is taking the air.

A suitably manual project for the day is sought out. I’m not thinking today – just doing. Block paving in the front garden fits the bill.

I mix cement, I mop my brow, I lay a course. I notice something. Every other car that roars past the front of Alfie Towers is an open top. Saturday is the first day of the year for chav-croozin’. "Hey, look at me, I’m cool, I’m so sexy, I’m driving a Cabreeeolay baby". Gangsta rap and Hip-hop is blastin’ outta the 120 watt boom boxes, pressure waves bounce off the crumbling ruin that is the Alfie pile. My brain is vibrating outta my ears as Doppler effect and 50 cent combine to give a performance to forget… Until the next opened topped boy racing tosser cruises into view.

I catch the eye of my next door neighbour. He’s in his front garden doing a bit of touch up work to the edifice that is ‘Immaculato Palace’.

We’ve never really indulged in any social intercourse. Mr Perfecto, the guy next door is everything I’m not. He always wears immaculate sporty gear. He always seems to be in his early thirties. He doesn’t walk, he sort of skippy-jigs around – like a boxer, on the balls of his feet. He always seems so damn happy for God’s sake. His eldest son, now aged about 8 has already been signed up by Manchester United. My 2 middle sons sign up every 2 weeks at the dole office…. The front of our house looks like a bag of spanners. His looks like something from Home and Garden… Just bloody perfect.

I ice-break… "Nice day eh"

He looks up. Mr Happy-Skip-Lightly doesn't look too pleased.
"Too bloody hot, if you ask me mate…. It’s too bloody hot – and there’s too many bugs about….. and don’t get me started on the weeds beginning to grow all over the place… bla, bla, bla"……

I couldn’t hear what else he was moaning about – possibly something about the Sun casting a rather sharp shadow on his drive or something…. Fortunately another geezer playing 50 cent cruised into earshot – so I guess I’ll never know…..