Monday, 11 April 2011


For the first time in the eight or so years that I've been coming regularly to the Cote D'Azur - if not living here - I have hayfever.  Well, to be honest, there's not a lot of hay in the centre of Nice, but I'm reacting strongly to the few bales that have been blowing across Place Massena, getting in the way of the trams and tripping up unsuspecting, appallingly-dressed tourists (so not all bad, then).

Didn't bring my prescription medication with me from the UK because I don't suffer from hayfever in Nice.  Unless I do.  

But where's the pleasure in sneezing throughout the night in my bedroom with the wafer-thin walls now that Monkey Woman and her Banana Boyfriend have gone???

For indeed, they departed the other Saturday for pastures (ATISHOO!) quieter.  Well, hopefully for somewhere without any scary pussycats, noisy elevators - or quiet elevators, when they don't work - or diminutive Jewish menopausal fairies...

That morning they arose around 9.00am, at which point they started to vacuum and move the furniture around, so I knew immediately The Day had come. I got myself ready for an appointment and emerged from my apartment to run straight into Banana Man, who was carrying various items of junk (non-judgemental description) to the elevator.  I looked at him.  He looked at me.  I looked away and elected to walk down the stairs.

Once I'd almost reached the floor below I heard the strange mantra of fuckofffuckofffuckofffuckoff.   Took me an instant to realize that was directed at me.  Couldn't let it pass, dear Reader, I have a blog to support, so I shouted up that it had been extremely interesting hearing him and his chunky Monkey girlfriend making love for the past year and a half, and that I was sorry I'd once had a conversation in my bedroom.*

*Irony.  It wasn't actually very interesting hearing them have sex, and I wasn't the slightest bit regretful of having had an (all-too-rare) conversation in my bedroom.  

There was a white van parked in the street waiting to ferry their crap treasured possessions to their new abode.  The one situated next to the airport and the out-of-town shopping centre.  Which they were obviously looking forward to as being the equivalent of residing in the middle of a field. (ATISHOO!)  

But anyway, it matters not.  Because they'll probably still be able to hear me from there.


So bye-bye horrible neighbours.  It's the end of an era.  No more monkeying around.  

Take the last train to St Laurent Du Var-ville
I won't meet you at the station
You can f*ck off by 4.30
'Cos I've had my reservations
Don't be slow, just go go go...
Oh ah ee oh...




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Please be nice, but not funnier than me. Thanks.