THE DOG, MR C, ME AND YOUR MOTHER

Henderson and I have given nicknames to the various bods that litter our lives like the man upstairs who will be for ever known as 'Takes All Sorts' on account of him trying to steer the VERGUENZA away from us all and towards the aptly named 'effing bleeder/c*nt/clever bastard AKA Mr Ceresuela. There are others but I was thinking of renaming Mercedes as Reuters or maybe the Herald and Piti can be the Prophet of Doom. Perhaps they have names for us too. I like to think they wouldn't overstretch the imagination and so I guess I am known locally as the Supergrass or perhaps Nark or Snitch but it's probably more animal inspired but I am glad that bitch translates as cabrona.

I've escaped with my life once more from the clutches of death or the community meeting as it is more commonly known. I was the first to arrive and no one else came for forty five minutes and then when they did it was the usual gripes about Mr C and his wife. I told everyone what I was told by a lawyer, the gestor herself and the police, to keep reporting him until he either sorts his life out or ends up in prison. No one wants to do this as this would involve a certain amount of work and was proved when the gestor asked one of the residents 'why didn't you call the police?' when we heard the story about Mr C during one of his more boring momentos letting off a fire extinguisher and coating everything in a fine blue powder. He must have plenty of money to burn as he is running up quite a tab for the community and no one seems to mind but me. Isabel Upstairs, with her request for glass to enclose her terrace was met with nods of approval, about the only time we have had the chance to do something good in nine years. I have come to the conclusion that like most things in life if you want anything done then you must do it yourself which is why I didn't even mention Mercedes and her dog as no one will follow my example by denouncing her as well as that would mean standing up and picking up the phone. Mercedes' daughter did come, right at the last minute and I had been there for two hours already so wasn't in the mood. I was a bit perturbed in case she was there to have a barney with me about the bloody dog and her mother, but I felt well prepared to deal with all of us and in any order. Mercedes' daughter's husband is a psychiatrist I believe so I thought I might ask her if he could treat me for my nineteenth nervous breakdown owing to Piti and his owner, her mum, but all previous displays of sarcasm etc might get confused and they might not believe me. In fact, like a lot of things here, I shall never really know what anyone thinks or feels as the point of view is constantly changing by the minute. 'Takes All Sorts' wasn't there thank God as he is a great example of Spanish inconsistency.Roll on next year.