The (ongoing) Yvonne Saga...
Here, so you guys know what's driven me to killing old ladies, is the so-far escapades of our next door neighbor.
1/8/07 [that is me trying to get the backwards British dating into my system]
I'm having a camping-out day in our new house. It was lovely until a moment ago brought a knock on the door from the previously-warned-about Yvonne.
Yvonne, it seems, according to no personages less than the landlord and landlady themselves, is the secretary of the little neighborhood thingy-thingy, and thinks she's in charge of quite everything goes on round here. Landlord and lady privately told us to ignore her, don't let her get to us, etc.
So...
We had our Sky TV dish installed today and as the lovely installation man was putting it up, the gardener -- the GARDENER, mind you -- told him he had to "move it further up." So he did as gardener ordered and set up our tv and all was well. Owen went back to work and I laid down on a duvet and pillow that had padded the tv on the drive over this morning, for a rest in our new bedroom.
Knock.
I think she's hard of hearing, can't understand my accent, or pretends not to.
The aforementioned gardener had left her a note - "Next door dish in wrong place."
I explained to her that this gardener (who, according to Ms. Yvonne, "knows our rules and regulations,") had told the installer where to put the dish and he'd done just as he was asked and nothing more was said.
She tiraded on about how it "spoils the weatherboard" and how "we take pride in our buildings," and how normally she'd've been there to "oversee" any such goings-on, and she didn't understand why, if we weren't even living here yet, we had to be in such a rush getting tv - "Why is tv so important?" she asked numerous times, all the while scowling up at the dish and down at the post-it from the presumptuous gardener. She went on about how it's so nice and quiet here, "no music..."
She actually said "No music..." to me.
I swear you could hear the ellipsis. She went on about how the landlady had told her that we'd be moving in a week or 2 days ago and blah dee blah with some more "rules and regulations," "pride in our buildings," "nice and quiet," "what's so important about tv?" and suchlike.
I said that it'd been nice to meet her.
She said "Well, we've certainly started off badly, but there's nothing I can do about that."
I am going to power-drill through her skull.
She said she'd be "telling off" the gardener when next they met.
Oh, and TWICE in her deluge of accusation about how she'd been told we were moving in earlier -- obviously the letting agency/landlord/Yvonne chain of communication has some crossed wires -- clearly my fault, though -- TWICE I told her we'd be out of our old place and officially moved in on August 10th, which will be our first anniversary.
Nary a smile, nary a congratulation, nary a flutter of an over-mascaraed-for-her-age lash.
Her hair is dyed approximately the same plum shade as mine, disconcertingly.
But with scraggy gray roots and patches where she'd applied the dye badly.
Fucking cunt.
Yvonne, I will be stabbing you in an upward direction, entering just under your wrinkly old breastbone and piercing your black and tiny heart, have a lovely day, Yvonne! :)
Oh, did I smile, oh, did I charm, oh, how she hates me already.
I will make tea from her jugular outpourings straight into her own kettle.
I think something with cinnamon would complement the old-lady-blood marvelously.
My original plan, before I met the beast, was to charm her utterly. Owen still thinks we can win her over, but I think her insides will decorate her ugly curtains before autumn.
So. That was my first run-in.
Later that day Owen talked to her, he gets on well with people. He's so good. So English. lol. A while passed, we were in and out of this place, moving in and whatnot. A few days after I wrote that, she waylaid us again and specifically told us to move the dish. She had obviously been stewing over it for days. She has no husband, no pets, no apparent hobbies other than spying on and tormenting the neighbors. Anyway, Owen said we'd get it moved within a couple of weeks, because we were VERY BUSY trying to move ourselves.
Yesterday morning a letter comes through the door.
Dear Mr A.
We write to remind you that you have agreed to move the TV Dish you have had erected at No.5 to a more acceptable position. Its non-acceptable position was pointed out on the 1st August to the person putting it up, but he continued on, and then to yourself later in the day.
As can be seen, there are no aerials on the frontages of buildings, but any have been erected discreetly. The aerial erected at No.1 could be used for guidance. We do ask in the information pack given that checks are made with HPM regarding aerials.
We hope this can be resolved in the near future and would thank you for your cooperation. If you require further information do not hesitate to ask.
Yours sincerely,
Yvonne K.
I got pissed. That's all a bunch of lies, as will be explained in the next letter transcribed. I got pissed. There was a guy coming to repair our (stupid motherfucking piece of crap even after it's gotten fixed) washer/dryer, and Owen called around dish repair companies and found one that could come move it the next day (ie today), but it turned out that they had a cancellation and came yesterday afternoon.
So the guy was here to move the dish and was bewildered as to why and how he was going to move it to a ridiculously inaccessible and ill-advised place on the side of the house, and we were standing out in the rain looking up at it and discussing for less than a minute, and OUT COMES YVONNE! The whore had been spying on us. She came out all "I couldn't help but....." BITCH, you could help it by NOT BEING A NOSY, INTERFERING EVIL CUNT. Anyway, she came out and stuck her nose in. Started ordering the guy around.
Not a word to me - NO word of thanks for getting it moved.
He got her to back off and he and I went into the house and he proclaimed "Whinging bastards," and we laughed. He warned me that it would cost a lot to get it up where she wanted it while also making it so we could actually get any signal whatsoever. Then he pointed out that her tv aerial is ON THE FRONT OF HER FUCKING HOUSE. Then he was going to get out to the truck and have a fag and wait a second til Owen came home cause he has the money.
But we couldn't get out of the fucking door. The rain had swelled the doorframe and it's now impossible to get out of my house from the inside. Strong beefy dish-man couldn't yank it open. I had to climb out the window into the rain and run around and shove from outside. Anyway, I did that, he went to his van to smoke and get brackets together and whatnot, Owen got home, went up to the guy in the van, and the first thing dishman said to Owen was "She's a nighmare, isn't she?"
It cost us £165. That, at the moment, is somewhere slightly over $330.
When Owen got back to work, Pete had to calm him down and talk him out of putting the bill through Yvonne's mail slot.
Later in the evening we were watching tv and it started going all funny. Bitch made us move the dish to somewhere it didn't work.
I flipped. I absolutely flipped. I was across the walk and nearly to her door before Owen (from inside our house because he wasn't wearing pants) talked me down.
We talked. He got all lovely chivalric nobody-makes-my-bunny-feel-like-this and made me all melty. Today he drafted this letter, which he will put through her mail slot this evening.
15th August 2007
Dear Yvonne,
May I once again apologise for the misunderstanding with the placement of the satellite dish installed on our property. As you have seen, we have fixed this by placing the dish on the side of the property, with the cable discreetly running down the side of the drainpipe.
Your letter of 14th August was slightly inaccurate in a few regards. Although the dish problem was pointed out to me on the day of installation, you did not make it clear on this date that it had to be moved. It was only on Tuesday the 7th of August that you requested it be moved and I asked for a couple of weeks to get it sorted out, as we were so busy moving. In the event, the re-erection of the dish took place within a week of the request being made.
You state that the dish's "non-acceptable position was pointed out on the 1st August to the person putting it up, but he continued on." This is not the case, as he changed the original location of the dish based on a conversation he had with the gardener and even came back inside to ask if we minded putting the dish where the gardener had asked him to put it. Obviously, there was a misunderstanding between the installer and the gardener, but this was not a case of simply ignoring instructions or requests as your phrasing implies.
You further state that "there are no aerials on the frontages of buildings" but your own television aerial is on the front of your property, so it is not obvious that aerials and dishes are not allowed on the front of the properties.
It is our intention to be quiet, considerate and happy residents of Our Cul de Sac, whose atmosphere is very much enhanced by the care taken by Hopland Property Management of the areas outside the houses. Thank you for your time, effort and vigilance in this regard. For our part, as this was just a case of one accident and one misunderstanding after another, we will pay the cost of the dish move as a gesture of our goodwill.
Also, I would like to say that while my own conversations with you have been perfectly pleasant - I might even venture to use the word cordial - and I am happy to chat to you whenever I am around, there seems to be a distinct personality clash between you and my wife. (She was particularly upset that while you were very quick to come out and give advice to the person who came to move the dish, that you did not thank us for getting the dish movement sorted out so quickly.)
I would therefore ask that you deal directly with me and that any matters you need to discuss come directly to me during the evenings and weekends and any hand-delivered letters be put through our front door before 8am or after 6pm on weekdays, or at any time at weekends.
I believe that this will make for the most harmonious relations between us and reduce the upset and stress to all parties as we move forwards as neighbours in our wonderful little corner of Kent.
Thank you for your understanding.
Regards,
I love him so much. He's so lovely and English. Real chivalry, right? Not like he's gonna go kick her ass for me. Cause he knows I can handle that myself. (And still might) But actually looking out for *my* welfare and peace of mind and trying to make my life in our lovely house as wonderful and static-free as possible for me.
Cause he can deal with the monster. He's just as hating of her as I am, but he's just so smooth with people. He got that from his dad. Richard is just pure smooth David Niven class, and Owen (though, clearly it's not genetic, as his bio-father, Boss, is fabulously gruff, which is something to stick right up your nature/nurture debate) got such a fine measure of that, and can deal with this woman with class and humor and.... oh I couldn't do much of anything without him. I'd have killed her, I'd be in jail. British jail. *shudder*
But anyway - that's not the end of it.
This morning I was awakened by an insistent knocking. It was Yvonne. I couldn't get the door open and made her push from the outside. She'd come round about the door, see, and brought the GARDENER round to see about it, for fuck's sake. Owen called the landlord about it yesterday and since it's the outside of the property, it got sent to the group of which Yvonne is secretary and self-appointed Evil Queen. (little does she know I already hold that title and will not be giving it up.)
We got the door open. She said "Oh, were you in bed?" I said yes. She said....
wait for it......
"Oh. We all get up early around here."
No apology. Just a barb. Then straight into ignoring me and leading the gardener to poke around my entryway. Not another word to me, while she's in my house touching my door and lifting my foyer mat and being a nosy old dried up dusty cunt. The gardener said that he could come round this afternoon or tomorrow with a grinder and try to take a sliver off the metal bit it's getting hung up on when the wood swells. Exit Yvonne.
Hopefully forever.
But I doubt it.
She seems the type to ignore a well-phrased, polite request.
1/8/07 [that is me trying to get the backwards British dating into my system]
I'm having a camping-out day in our new house. It was lovely until a moment ago brought a knock on the door from the previously-warned-about Yvonne.
Yvonne, it seems, according to no personages less than the landlord and landlady themselves, is the secretary of the little neighborhood thingy-thingy, and thinks she's in charge of quite everything goes on round here. Landlord and lady privately told us to ignore her, don't let her get to us, etc.
So...
We had our Sky TV dish installed today and as the lovely installation man was putting it up, the gardener -- the GARDENER, mind you -- told him he had to "move it further up." So he did as gardener ordered and set up our tv and all was well. Owen went back to work and I laid down on a duvet and pillow that had padded the tv on the drive over this morning, for a rest in our new bedroom.
Knock.
I think she's hard of hearing, can't understand my accent, or pretends not to.
The aforementioned gardener had left her a note - "Next door dish in wrong place."
I explained to her that this gardener (who, according to Ms. Yvonne, "knows our rules and regulations,") had told the installer where to put the dish and he'd done just as he was asked and nothing more was said.
She tiraded on about how it "spoils the weatherboard" and how "we take pride in our buildings," and how normally she'd've been there to "oversee" any such goings-on, and she didn't understand why, if we weren't even living here yet, we had to be in such a rush getting tv - "Why is tv so important?" she asked numerous times, all the while scowling up at the dish and down at the post-it from the presumptuous gardener. She went on about how it's so nice and quiet here, "no music..."
She actually said "No music..." to me.
I swear you could hear the ellipsis. She went on about how the landlady had told her that we'd be moving in a week or 2 days ago and blah dee blah with some more "rules and regulations," "pride in our buildings," "nice and quiet," "what's so important about tv?" and suchlike.
I said that it'd been nice to meet her.
She said "Well, we've certainly started off badly, but there's nothing I can do about that."
I am going to power-drill through her skull.
She said she'd be "telling off" the gardener when next they met.
Oh, and TWICE in her deluge of accusation about how she'd been told we were moving in earlier -- obviously the letting agency/landlord/Yvonne chain of communication has some crossed wires -- clearly my fault, though -- TWICE I told her we'd be out of our old place and officially moved in on August 10th, which will be our first anniversary.
Nary a smile, nary a congratulation, nary a flutter of an over-mascaraed-for-her-age lash.
Her hair is dyed approximately the same plum shade as mine, disconcertingly.
But with scraggy gray roots and patches where she'd applied the dye badly.
Fucking cunt.
Yvonne, I will be stabbing you in an upward direction, entering just under your wrinkly old breastbone and piercing your black and tiny heart, have a lovely day, Yvonne! :)
Oh, did I smile, oh, did I charm, oh, how she hates me already.
I will make tea from her jugular outpourings straight into her own kettle.
I think something with cinnamon would complement the old-lady-blood marvelously.
My original plan, before I met the beast, was to charm her utterly. Owen still thinks we can win her over, but I think her insides will decorate her ugly curtains before autumn.
So. That was my first run-in.
Later that day Owen talked to her, he gets on well with people. He's so good. So English. lol. A while passed, we were in and out of this place, moving in and whatnot. A few days after I wrote that, she waylaid us again and specifically told us to move the dish. She had obviously been stewing over it for days. She has no husband, no pets, no apparent hobbies other than spying on and tormenting the neighbors. Anyway, Owen said we'd get it moved within a couple of weeks, because we were VERY BUSY trying to move ourselves.
Yesterday morning a letter comes through the door.
Dear Mr A.
We write to remind you that you have agreed to move the TV Dish you have had erected at No.5 to a more acceptable position. Its non-acceptable position was pointed out on the 1st August to the person putting it up, but he continued on, and then to yourself later in the day.
As can be seen, there are no aerials on the frontages of buildings, but any have been erected discreetly. The aerial erected at No.1 could be used for guidance. We do ask in the information pack given that checks are made with HPM regarding aerials.
We hope this can be resolved in the near future and would thank you for your cooperation. If you require further information do not hesitate to ask.
Yours sincerely,
Yvonne K.
I got pissed. That's all a bunch of lies, as will be explained in the next letter transcribed. I got pissed. There was a guy coming to repair our (stupid motherfucking piece of crap even after it's gotten fixed) washer/dryer, and Owen called around dish repair companies and found one that could come move it the next day (ie today), but it turned out that they had a cancellation and came yesterday afternoon.
So the guy was here to move the dish and was bewildered as to why and how he was going to move it to a ridiculously inaccessible and ill-advised place on the side of the house, and we were standing out in the rain looking up at it and discussing for less than a minute, and OUT COMES YVONNE! The whore had been spying on us. She came out all "I couldn't help but....." BITCH, you could help it by NOT BEING A NOSY, INTERFERING EVIL CUNT. Anyway, she came out and stuck her nose in. Started ordering the guy around.
Not a word to me - NO word of thanks for getting it moved.
He got her to back off and he and I went into the house and he proclaimed "Whinging bastards," and we laughed. He warned me that it would cost a lot to get it up where she wanted it while also making it so we could actually get any signal whatsoever. Then he pointed out that her tv aerial is ON THE FRONT OF HER FUCKING HOUSE. Then he was going to get out to the truck and have a fag and wait a second til Owen came home cause he has the money.
But we couldn't get out of the fucking door. The rain had swelled the doorframe and it's now impossible to get out of my house from the inside. Strong beefy dish-man couldn't yank it open. I had to climb out the window into the rain and run around and shove from outside. Anyway, I did that, he went to his van to smoke and get brackets together and whatnot, Owen got home, went up to the guy in the van, and the first thing dishman said to Owen was "She's a nighmare, isn't she?"
It cost us £165. That, at the moment, is somewhere slightly over $330.
When Owen got back to work, Pete had to calm him down and talk him out of putting the bill through Yvonne's mail slot.
Later in the evening we were watching tv and it started going all funny. Bitch made us move the dish to somewhere it didn't work.
I flipped. I absolutely flipped. I was across the walk and nearly to her door before Owen (from inside our house because he wasn't wearing pants) talked me down.
We talked. He got all lovely chivalric nobody-makes-my-bunny-feel-like-this and made me all melty. Today he drafted this letter, which he will put through her mail slot this evening.
15th August 2007
Dear Yvonne,
May I once again apologise for the misunderstanding with the placement of the satellite dish installed on our property. As you have seen, we have fixed this by placing the dish on the side of the property, with the cable discreetly running down the side of the drainpipe.
Your letter of 14th August was slightly inaccurate in a few regards. Although the dish problem was pointed out to me on the day of installation, you did not make it clear on this date that it had to be moved. It was only on Tuesday the 7th of August that you requested it be moved and I asked for a couple of weeks to get it sorted out, as we were so busy moving. In the event, the re-erection of the dish took place within a week of the request being made.
You state that the dish's "non-acceptable position was pointed out on the 1st August to the person putting it up, but he continued on." This is not the case, as he changed the original location of the dish based on a conversation he had with the gardener and even came back inside to ask if we minded putting the dish where the gardener had asked him to put it. Obviously, there was a misunderstanding between the installer and the gardener, but this was not a case of simply ignoring instructions or requests as your phrasing implies.
You further state that "there are no aerials on the frontages of buildings" but your own television aerial is on the front of your property, so it is not obvious that aerials and dishes are not allowed on the front of the properties.
It is our intention to be quiet, considerate and happy residents of Our Cul de Sac, whose atmosphere is very much enhanced by the care taken by Hopland Property Management of the areas outside the houses. Thank you for your time, effort and vigilance in this regard. For our part, as this was just a case of one accident and one misunderstanding after another, we will pay the cost of the dish move as a gesture of our goodwill.
Also, I would like to say that while my own conversations with you have been perfectly pleasant - I might even venture to use the word cordial - and I am happy to chat to you whenever I am around, there seems to be a distinct personality clash between you and my wife. (She was particularly upset that while you were very quick to come out and give advice to the person who came to move the dish, that you did not thank us for getting the dish movement sorted out so quickly.)
I would therefore ask that you deal directly with me and that any matters you need to discuss come directly to me during the evenings and weekends and any hand-delivered letters be put through our front door before 8am or after 6pm on weekdays, or at any time at weekends.
I believe that this will make for the most harmonious relations between us and reduce the upset and stress to all parties as we move forwards as neighbours in our wonderful little corner of Kent.
Thank you for your understanding.
Regards,
I love him so much. He's so lovely and English. Real chivalry, right? Not like he's gonna go kick her ass for me. Cause he knows I can handle that myself. (And still might) But actually looking out for *my* welfare and peace of mind and trying to make my life in our lovely house as wonderful and static-free as possible for me.
Cause he can deal with the monster. He's just as hating of her as I am, but he's just so smooth with people. He got that from his dad. Richard is just pure smooth David Niven class, and Owen (though, clearly it's not genetic, as his bio-father, Boss, is fabulously gruff, which is something to stick right up your nature/nurture debate) got such a fine measure of that, and can deal with this woman with class and humor and.... oh I couldn't do much of anything without him. I'd have killed her, I'd be in jail. British jail. *shudder*
But anyway - that's not the end of it.
This morning I was awakened by an insistent knocking. It was Yvonne. I couldn't get the door open and made her push from the outside. She'd come round about the door, see, and brought the GARDENER round to see about it, for fuck's sake. Owen called the landlord about it yesterday and since it's the outside of the property, it got sent to the group of which Yvonne is secretary and self-appointed Evil Queen. (little does she know I already hold that title and will not be giving it up.)
We got the door open. She said "Oh, were you in bed?" I said yes. She said....
wait for it......
"Oh. We all get up early around here."
No apology. Just a barb. Then straight into ignoring me and leading the gardener to poke around my entryway. Not another word to me, while she's in my house touching my door and lifting my foyer mat and being a nosy old dried up dusty cunt. The gardener said that he could come round this afternoon or tomorrow with a grinder and try to take a sliver off the metal bit it's getting hung up on when the wood swells. Exit Yvonne.
Hopefully forever.
But I doubt it.
She seems the type to ignore a well-phrased, polite request.