One and one and one

Take that bloke next door, for instance. That bloke next door … I mean, I don’t object to him. Barely know him, in fact. But you know, it’s just something. Something about him. You get that feeling, don’t you? I hear him hammering on the wall ‘til late, and then when he sees me in the corridor he tells me that he was sticking his heart up there. On the bleedin’ wall. Right, I say. Right. So why does he need to do that more than once? You’ve only got the one heart, right? But next week it’s the same thing. Hammering after dark. So then when I pass him in the corridor I ask him: another heart? No, he says politely, but with a look that tells me I shouldn’t be so bloody stupid. What a patronising … anyways. No, not my heart; my soul, he says. Right, I say. Right. Again. This bloke’s got a screw loose, I think to myself. Putting your soul up there next to your heart, yes? Why not just hang pleasant pictures, like everyone else? What sort of person … anyways. Yes, he says, a bit impatiently. With nails? I ask. With bloody huge nails, he says. Nails this big, he says, showing me the air between his thumb and forefinger. That’s the only time he looks vaguely animated, that is. Then he stops, all suddenly. All sudden. Apologises about the chunks of dust that might be falling out of my wall and onto my carpet because of his incessant hammering. Tells me that it won’t be a problem because he’s starting on the floorboards next. He’s got bored of painting doors, so he’s ripping up the threadbare carpets. Ripping up the floor. What are you putting down there? I ask. Fuck knows, he says. Anything I can get my fucking hands on, he says. Secrets mostly, he says. For safekeeping. Until I know what I’m going to do with them, he says. Then he shuts up, like he’s said too much. Disappears inside himself somewhere. And disappears inside his flat too. What’s that phrase you hear those neighbours say on the news when they are asked about living next door to a terrorist or mass murderer? Oh yes. Always the quiet ones. Always polite when they met him in the street. Kept himself to himself, though. Still, I’m buggered if I know what he’s about. Just odd, that one. Just plain and odd. Plain odd.”

Comments: 12

    I’d love to meet that bloke at the pub for a drink sometime.

    Ani | 07.15.07, 23:00

    beware, mr unreliable, of finding out too much lest you become his next secret…

    edvard moonke | 07.16.07, 00:06

    How lovely of him to put his heart and soul up there. And laying out his secrets. Always the quiet ones. They really are the most interesting ones. Even if they are often mass murderers or terrorists. :)

    bohémienne | 07.16.07, 01:02

    I’d hang my heart, but I’d do it in the middle of the day, while everyone was out. I’d probably move it every second day, it has limited capacity to linger too long in one place.

    callisto | 07.16.07, 01:49

    i just started reading your blog, i think i got here via meleah… i’m not sure… but i just wanted to let you know this is really good writing… and excellent thinking to back it up…
    i wanna spend a little more time here when i am off in the end of the week and play a little catch up,, as i feel that there is something to be learned here,, in your style and your thought process… thanks so much ….

    paisley | 07.16.07, 12:18

    Do you live next door to Andy Jardinierre?

    Angelalala | 07.16.07, 23:21

    I’d hate to be his cleaning lady

    Meesha | 07.17.07, 05:06

    sounds like a right weirdo

    he’d fit right in with my house :-)

    Peach | 07.17.07, 11:09

    Ani - My next door neighbour, you mean? No problem. I shall ask him next time he glowers at me.

    Edvard - Don’t worry. It’s much more likely that he’ll end up under my floorboards than me ending up under his.

    Bohemienne - I can neither confirm nor deny that I am either a mass murderer or a terrorist. I might just be … quiet.

    Callisto - A moveable heart? Oh yes, I know the feeling. I think mine is hiding behind the Buddha figure in my hall at the moment.

    Paisley - You’re most welcome. All I would advise is not to read too much of the archives at once, as it will probably rot your mind.

    Angelalala - I dream of living next door to Andy Jardinierre so that I could pop round anytime to borrow a cup of sugar. I believe he dreams about it too. Or are those nightmares?

    Meesha - Yes, I have interviewed rather a lot of cleaning ladies. All of them have run away screaming.

    Peach - Hmm. It must be something to do with the local area, don’t you think? Maybe there are peculiar toxins in the air?

    An Unreliable Witness | 07.17.07, 12:14

    I can’t see what’s wrong with him. Most of us go about nailing our hearts and souls somewhere inappropriate - we’re just not so upfront about it. I keep my neighbours awake at night padlocking mine inside my ribcage.

    Z | 07.17.07, 19:50

    Z - Welcome, and thanks for your comment. I can’t see what’s wrong with him either. He seems quite normal to me, though I am perhaps not the best of judges.

    An Unreliable Witness | 07.17.07, 23:46

    i agree with Z. he seems like a perfecty nice chap.
    the kid of man who i could marry mabye… yes i think both our hearts would look very nice on the wall together.

    throbbing and oozing our bloody love all over the wall…

    Melancholy Match Stick Girl | 07.20.07, 14:28

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