I said I like GLITTER, not LITTER!

Not even 24 hours in and my good neighbourliness has officially reached it sell-by date and I’ll be quite happy to see the back of upstairs neighbour. And I’m not referring to his admittedly cute ass.

I returned home yesterday afternoon after a glorious day in The Park to find a very large plastic bag on top of one of my rose bushes, which is situated directly below the balcony of the unit above.

Inside the large plastic bag were several more bags – all from Sheet Street; indicating that someone had recently purchased quite a bit of bedding.

After untangling the shopping bag from the thorns on the wild branches, I stormed inside to vent my anger at the new neighbours littering to a poor unsuspecting Star.

He know how much a abhor litter bugs. I’m the crazy women in the Feisty Fiesta that hoots aggressively behind drivers who throw their used tissues [I could vomit] or empty cold drink bottles out their windows.

There is absolutely NO excuse for littering of any item under circumstance, and so to return from my litter-free Park [thank you Angel and fellow Scouts for your weekly cleaning thereof – it doesn’t go unnoticed] to find a very large invading white packet in my garden just did my nut in.

Star, ever the diplomat, said that perhaps the new neighbour/s had put the packets on the balcony with a view to disposing of them later, and during the afternoon a gust of wind lifted them from the floor and whisked them away into my bush.


I shrugged off my frustrations and put on hold the scathing letter I had drafted in my head, calling for the immediate eviction of the new tenant/s. [I have yet to discover whether the fine-bummed litter bug has a roomie.]

Leaving for work this morning I was horrified to find more plastic bits in my garden.  This time my plants were covered in large pieces of clear plastic, that I suspect was ripped off a new bed mattress and thrown out a bedroom window.  I can’t prove it , but new neighbour is high on my suspect list.

Lucky for him he had already left for work by the time I got to my car; otherwise he’d have found his shiny new BM confettied in tiny bits of static plastic that are very difficult to remove by hand.

So final warning to Mr Upstairs Neighbour: refrain from permitting your plastic bags flying off your balcony and into my garden; failing which Girlfield and Lady Tubbington’s litter will make their nasty way onto your balcony in order assist in keeping the plastic down so as not to fly away in the wind.

Am I overreacting? Quite possible … but that’s what you get after working 12 hour days most days of the week and have no social life to speak of and haven’t touched alcohol for 6 weeks and as for sex, god I can’t even remember what that is … so I could be frustrated. Just a little.

Moving on.