Way back in the early days of the Kyknoord Chronicles, I made mention of The Bat. Although this supremely annoying individual doesn’t quite qualify for the title of “bane of my existence”+, she does manage to incorporate all that is irritating about communal living in one liver-spot bespeckled package. She is about two thousand years old and her longevity can only be explained as final definitive proof of an afterlife: nobody wants her.
I’ve been able to avoid her quite successfully in recent months, but yesterday morning I wasn’t so fortunate. She accosted me as I was leaving for work and began yammering at me in her fingernails-on-glass voice to “leave her post-box alone”. I have no clue what she was on about, but I can only assume that somewhere up in the senile lump of cream cheese that masquerades as her brain, a lone neuron must have discovered the cooking sherry and had a bit of a blowout.
The really irksome part of this little episode is that she is almost completely deaf, so “Fuck you, Grandma!” just doesn’t have the impact it should.
+ That honour is reserved for any member of the legal fraternity that happens to be dealing with my divorce at the moment.