Car Boot Sale

Hello stranger! Well, I haven’t seen you in a long, long time. You’re always such a busy bee with that phone of yours going “buzz buzz buzz”. Wish I had that many people who wanted to talk to me. No, it’s alright.

Come in, sit down. Yes, there’s fine. Do you want a drink? Only water? I hope you're not on one of your funny faddy diets. We always had problems with you as a baby, you know. You would only eat oven chips at one point and it had to be one particular brand of oven chip. So fussy! One time everywhere seemed to go out of stock of them at the same time. Your father had to drive to fifty different supermarkets before he found a bag. And not to mention all the difficulties we had with you in your teenage years.

How have I been? Hah, good question. Where to start? First of all are those cretins next door, clattering and banging at all times of day. Sounds like a bloody garage. That would explain the number of different cars I see coming and going up and down this road. Either a garage, knocking shop or it’s drug dealers. I’m telling you. One of the little wankers knocked over my brand new compost bin that I’d finally managed to get from the Council – at great expense – after weeks of ringing them up to remind them.

Is that your phone going off or mine? Mine? Where is the damn thing. First I need to find my glasses, then where I’ve put the bleedin’ phone. I know what you’re thinking: oh Mum get your act together. Wait til you get to my age, then you’ll know how it is. I think I see it, over there by the telly. Just after I’ve sat down as well. Just my luck. No, don’t you get up, you’ve had a long journey. I don’t know why you don’t let me come and pick you up from the station. Does my car embarrass you or something? Or you don’t want any of your trendy uni pals spotting you with a grey-haired old bat, is that it? Right, got it. No, that’s the remote. Try again. Come on, Tracy.

Well, would you bloody believe it.

Don’t RUSH me. Give me a moment’s peace for once to let me see what Mr Prick wants this time. Let’s find out what brand new accusation he’s thought up now. Fat fucking lying prick.

Oh. Ooo-err. That’s strange. It goes:

“Hello Tracy. Still got the lawnmower to bring back round yours” (spelt ‘U-R-S’ – my, someone’s let their standards slide) “I’m going to the car boot sale near yours next weekend, so give me a shout if you’re free and I’ll pop it over. H.”

How did he know about the car boot sale? Norma phoned me about it the other week. God, she yaps on and on, that woman. ‘Oh but you must come, I’ve found some real bargains there,’ she says. Then starts lecturing me on how I don’t go out enough. Can never get a word in. I know what she really wanted. A free taxi ride service, courtesy of Tracy's Cabs, that’s what.

Are you still getting busses everywhere by the way? Walking?! Not at night, I hope. Are you trying to give me more worry lines? I’ve always said that your father should have bought you a car like he did with his first lot of kids. Selfish arsehole. No, you’re not ‘too nervous to drive’ – sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns and just bloody get on with it. What am I always telling you? Get. Your. Priorities. Sorted.

Perfect timing as ever on his part. Bet he knew you’d be with me today. One of his police buddies probably tipped him off so he could later use it against me. No, it doesn’t matter he left that job twenty years ago. Once a pig, always a pig. If you’d heard all the farts and all the snoring you would know. Why do you never take my side in these things?

‘Car boot sale’. Well, this is proof at last. I’m going to write down exactly what he said and when, in case I need to show it to a lawyer one day. No, I can’t just ‘show them’ my phone! Always think you’ve got the solution, don’t you. You don’t know what it’s like round here anymore. It's going to be stolen one day when my back's turned. Things have changed a lot since you left. If it’s not the bloody drug lords next door it’s rapes in that park up by the cinema. And then they found some teen brandishing a knife right next to the station, probably waiting for one of those rich pillocks commuting to London. That’s why I told you to get a taxi straight here. But no, you had to be awkward, wouldn’t let me give you the money. Probably wanted the walk so you could have a ciggie, didn’t you? I could smell it on you when you turned up here. Doesn’t matter how much spray you’ve put on although believe me, you did almost set off my allergies when you waltzed in here.

Car. Boot. Sale. The bloody nerve of it. You know what it is, don’t you? He’s spying on me. He’s lying and he’s spying. Look, I can rhyme too! Turns out you’re not the only writer in the family. I had quite the talent for it back at school, you know. The teachers wanted me to help write the screenplay for the Christmas show before my meddling alcoholic bitch of a mother put her foot down. Told me I was taking extra maths lessons instead. Wanted me to be an accountant’s secretary. This so-called ‘accountant’ probably being some toyboy of hers she was cheating on my poor dad with.

Such a cheek. “Give me a shout if you’re free”. He knows bloody well I’m free because I haven’t got a job because he keeps sabotaging it! Driving round the blood job centre with his lies, revving that engine to cover up his farting bum.

It isn’t a laughing matter. No, you’re not sorry. You think it’s all a joke, too. One big game. Well, stuff him! He can keep the wretched mower.

I’ll have to get another phone now. He’s clearly got this one bugged or tapped or whatever they call it.

No, it isn’t ‘just a coincidence’.

God, another phone. That being another expense I can’t afford. No, I’m not taking your money. You haven’t even got a proper job yet. I don’t know where we went wrong with you at times. You had a good life, all the opportunities I never had.

I don’t even know what phones cost these days; probably an arm and a leg. Just my ruddy luck. Right when I’ve got a big water bill coming up. He’s done this on purpose, to watch me suffer. How much does yours cost? Contract? What does that mean. You pay HOW MUCH a month?! They’re clearly paying you too much in that job of yours. What’ve you gone and got that device out for now, another friend begging you to come back for drugging and drinking and whatever it is you get up to down there? I wouldn’t know, you never tell me. Oh. Touchscreen. Ooh. Whizzy bit of work, isn’t it. And a camera? I could use that, to take photos of the damage those idiots next door keep doing to MY CAR! YES, I HOPE YOU CAN BLOODY HEAR ME.

Don’t look at me like that. I get to hear them all the time, so why shouldn’t I be allowed to have my little bit of fun once in a while.

You’re going out again? You’ve only just got here. Well, enjoy your cig and watch out for the rapists. Ciggies are what caused the stroke that killed your father, y’know. Put a coat on! When you get back (hopefully without pneumonia) I’ll tell you about the latest accusations his whore of an ex-wife wrote to me regarding. Suggesting I had something to do with it. Me? You know me. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’ve never upset anyone in my life!