Yesterday I woke up late. I was off work and as I didn’t have to go to the hospital and get my womb burned off I thought I’d treat myself to a little sleep in. So I got up, yawned and stretched and looked outside my bedroom window.
A woman was in my garden.
She appeared to be poking around, walking up and down and, um, trimming the hedge with scissors. I should explain, although I call it a garden, it’s more like a tiny bit of paved wasteland. It clearly hasn't seen any love for many a year and has the remnants of an ancient compost heap against the back wall - you know that kind that has ceased to be compost and has just become another bit of the garden? That kind. It also has a falling down fence and a table upon which reside my recycling boxes. I then have a wheely bin. This excites me quite a lot. I have never ever EVER had a wheely bin before. Turns out I shouldn’t have had this one. I actually stole it. Anyway. It’s fine now.
I didn't really enjoy the fact that someone was in my garden, without telling me first. Or even at all in fact. I'm a private person, perhaps more guarded of said privacy than most, and I would just like to live in peace. I already had the estate agent visit to contend with yesterday, why now was someone in the garden?
So I go outside. I feign surprise.
"Hiiii, I'm your landlady, lovely to meet you"
"Er, hi... so what are you doing here exactly?"
"Oh, I just pop by every now and again when you're not here. I like to do the garden."
I have to say I looked askance at this. There is no garden. There literally is no gardening to do. Not even if you tried really really hard.
"Oh" I said, pointedly looking around at the cracked paving stones and feeble fuzz of plantgrowth through the slats of the fence.
"So, how often do you come?"
"Just once a fortnight"
ONCE A FORTNIGHT. What the living fuck? So my last landlord who lived in Thailand and was some kind of criminal fuckhead didn't give a shit about the flat and now I have a landlady who is apparently so obsessed with my house that she literally camps on my doorstep.
I send a strongly worded email to my estate agent. I am mere hours away from Operation Fatman. What if I had smuggled him out of my house on the way to the vet to hide him from the landlady and then ran slap bang into the fucking landlady because she apparently spends more time in my garden than I do?
She doesn't live next door, by the way. She doesn't even live in the same town. Yet somehow she finds time every two weeks to patrol my gated off back yard. Mere yards away from where a contraband kitty is snoozing?
Even if Fatman wasn't a constant round thorn in my side, I still don't feel comfortable being stalked by my landlady. It's weird. What if I go outside naked? I mean, I probably won't but I like to think I could. What about when I hang my knickers on the line to dry? Is she going to come and inspect them as well?
I mean maybe she'd like to have a root through my cupboards? Tell me I should be buying different toilet roll? Criticise my bed making technique? Check I'm flossing?
I have an overly attached landlady. After a day of Fatman transporting shenanigans - he stayed at the vets in the afternoon and the vet said that he is NOT FAT. Fatman is officially not fat. Anyway, that's not important right now. All went well. We're back home. Fatty is angry but otherwise unharmed.
And then today I get a reply from my estate agent. They tell my my landlady has said that she "only comes round because of The Weed". There is, apparently, some weed that is so vicious and triffid like that if it isn't dealt with every two weeks without fail will take over the side of the house.
She wants to come over every two weeks and hang out in my garden because of a KILLER WEED?
Whut the fug?
She said that she will allow me to take care of THE KILLER WEED myself as long as I agree that if said KILLER WEED in any way ruins the house I am liable. I agreed to this in exchange for not bumping into her sitting on my doorstep staring at the broken remnants of the KILLER WEED.
My friend and I just went to find said weed. There is nothing there...