Dodgy geezers

Since I moved into my present home three months ago the overwhelming majority of my mail has been for previous occupants and all of that has been from debt collectors, baliffs and the clerk of the court. I have now taken to opening the mail before consigning it to the bin whereas I used to mark everything return to sender and shove it in the postbox across the street. The entertainment value is priceless and it can only get better.

There have evidently been some well dodgy geezers living here as my predecessors if the type and amount of post I get for them is anything to go by. I am expecting an imminent knock from Old Bill, arrest warrant in hand for non payment of fines subsequent to a 2005 drink driving conviction in the name of a certain Mr A Wood as well as another visit from a baliff, this time for a Ms Oliver to take her telly and assorted whatnots for not honouring a settlement agreement with Powergen. All this to name but two ongoing debacles pertaining to my address. I always enjoy telling these arrogant little Stalin's to take a hike.

As for the fucking bastard TV Licensing lets not even go there. I never answer the door to them anyway. I don't watch TV and haven't for some years and so fail to see why they need to persistantly hassle me. Cunts is what they are, cunts I tell you, cunts.

Interestingly, at my old address I used to get regular bank statements and cashpoint cards/PIN's etc for people who's tenure was perhaps a decade ago, despite having told the respective bank/building society many times they no longer lived there. Small wonder identity fraud is now an menacing epidemic. Which leads me to conclude upon reflection to the time I purchased a Deep Fat Fryer from Argos, it was a managers special, cheap since it had no original box. It came in a plain old cardboard box packed around and about with bits of old paper, the kind of paper from computer printouts only this printout contained several thousand names addresses and credit card numbers of customers that had made purchases at the store. If only I were not so damned infuriatingly honest.

Who needs reality TV when reality reality is this good?.

Pip pip