This would be hilarious if it wasn’t actually a real story…
Rewind to 2 days ago.
There is a rapping on the door downstairs…
“Ange, is Colin, answer the door!”
Obviously there is no response except for doggy doing her nut.
He rapps a bit harder, banging the window, “Angie, it’s Colin, open up”.
He sounds mildly Glaswegian. "Scottish Colin"from here on in. Ok. I observe from my room above. He moves around to the back - I ghost his movement a) to make sure he walks straight on past my bike, and b) to make sure he does not scope the entire house.
“ANGE!” he yells, “FFS” peering through the back window. He has a tattoo on his wrist. Shaven blond hair. Built like a brick house…
He gets bored and moves back round the front before disappearing off into the evening.
Ok, I reason with myself, they have scarier friends than my taking them to court for a sledgehammer incident. This is still ok - at least I am not on the top of their retribution priority right now. This is ok.
Skip forward one day, on my way back home from MA class, I am so sure I walk past ‘Scottish Colin’ and a mate, yet they are very S. London sounding… opposite directions, all is ok, nothing to worry about, life goes on, it wasn’t down a dark alley, fine.
Moving on to today…
I am in my back garden. The rain is coming, a heavy downpour is brewing. I have just finished cutting the grass and digging a flower bed (yes, it is as ghey as it sounds, feck orf). All of a sudden I here ‘ANGE’.
OMFG, 'Scottish Colin is back. And I am on the same floor level… ground floor, garden floor, as him. The gate opens, and the best hiding place I could find was…just behind the very same fence panel that he was climbing over to rap against the window!
“Angie! It’s Colin! I just want to say ‘hello’!” yeah - like my cat just want’s to say hello to a slug on a rainy morning!
I stay crouched, the rain is coming, that will send him on his way… and he mutters and exclaims about the rudeness of not wishing to say hello to a friend whilst making his way back to the front… I breath a sigh of relief, he’ll go away soon… I unfurl a leg into a more comfortable crouch position when the gate goes again. Feck, he’s coming back. The rain starts to lash, yet the tree over me is keeping me dry. Just another glimpse of their window will convince him to bugger off. Except this time he comes into… my garden.
He stops and looks at me crouched behind the fence. I look back up at him.
“you’re not Ange” he states.
“no, I’m not.” I reply.
“where is she?” he asks accusingly.
“I have no idea” I reply, still crouched, aimlessly prodding the earth I had just overturned
“Oh. Are you waiting out for her as well?” (WTF??) He asks
“Erm, no” I reply “I just live upstairs!” (pointing to the sky)
“Oh, sorry luv” He apologises, meanwhile, a buddy that was with him peers round the corner…
“Oi, She’s not Ange!” he claims
“No, I’m not” I confirm.
“Sorry luv, and hello” he waves goofily.
“yeah, sorry luv” claims not-so-scottish-and-rather-more-South-Londoner Colin.
They both shuffle towards the gate, hurl a couple more obscenities at the downstairs flat, and bugger off, by this time, the rain lashing down like a monsoon.
All I can think of is some scene out of Jackie Brown… Surely this is going to end in some all out confusion where only the cat survives with a bundle of drugs, weapons and cash? WTF is going on?
