Monday, 7 February 2011

Judge not

My neighbour, a woman whose seemingly innocuous visage belies a voice that could scrub pans from adjoining rooms. Her sewer-mouthed children, tangled to her, together with squeaking kittens, in a modern day retelling of Rat King folklore. The absent father. The overnight male companions, among whom, one in particular, announces his arrival at the front gate with the ridiculous ice-cream-van tooting of his moped horn. My neighbour. What joy. And what hope for the future.

1 comment:

  1. This is a fairly accurate description of my neighbour, at least insofar as I observe the to-ings and goings. But how much of her circumstance do I really know? Not much. I cannot judge what I don't see and what I do see is not the whole story.