Ok, maybe not as ‘yoof’ as having a DJ saving my life, but without the wonders of a selfless sack barrow I’d be walking as bow-legged as Mjohnson is this morning with his “sporting arse injury”. Behold!
Only the timely intervention of a kindly neighbour saved the aforementioned Mjohnson (cheers, blood!) and I from attempting to shift a 65kg digital piano on an office chair I’m currently selling on eBay. I forgot my neighbour’s name (which is fortunately on the door to his flat) almost as quickly as it took me to write the thank you note (and explanation for why he won’t be seeing his barrow for another 24 hours) I put through his letter box, but I’ll know what a sack barrow is for the rest of my life.
I have now moved all the cumbersome stuff to my new crib and am up early waiting for the new bed to be delivered. I kissed the Fat Fucks goodbye (not literally, as being prostitutes they’d probably bill me for that) last night, and at 11pm yesterday the only sounds heard in my flat were the echoes of me dropping heavy objects on the wooden floor.
I have a glorious vista of Finsbury Park from my new window, if I don’t spoil the view and look down to the petrol station forecourt beneath me. It means on a glorious summer’s day I’ll be able to see flowers, smell cut grass and children skipping together in the park. A cynic might say that I’ll also be able to inhale petrol fumes, watch dogs crapping and drunks fighting during daylight hours, but that would still be preferable to having the Fat Fucks as my neighbours.
