Friday, 30 September 2011

The Non-Existent Old Girl

I thought I hadn't seen that non-existent old girl for aeons, and turns out she died months back! No one tells me anything.

I shouldn't be surprised though cos she was about 99yrs old (mebbe not 99 but v.v. elderly) with a hacking cough and bent over like a hair pin, poor old soul.

Man Friday heard it from the Iranian boys at the 'everything' store.  Apparently, she fell into the bath whilst dyeing her hair or bashed herself on the bonce getting up from dyeing her hair; but whatever story you believe, it definately had something to do with dyeing her hair (which she dyed some deep shade of 'black hole').

I used to see her quite a bit when I first moved here; never understood a word she said though.  She used to lean over my fence and chatter away and when I put out my hand to shake hers, she put her hands up in the air, bust out laughing, pointed to her chest and said: 'I am non-existent.' Which I thought was odd but considering she had gallons of 'black' hair, wore a fox tippet with the head cut off and, generally, wore a pair of wellingtons, it didn't seem that odd.

Thing was, everytime I saw her (from then on in) I couldn't say: 'Hello, non-existent,' now could I.  So I settled for sweetheart or my love or somesuch.

Well (typical) it turns out, acc. to the Iranian boys, that her name was Nona Zistia (dunno how you spell Zistia).  Anyone could've made the same mistake, I really don't blame myself for getting her name wrong; not only did she had a really strong accent but very big dentures.  She was a lovely old girl though, always smelled of rose water.

No surprise that the bath got her in the end; in the RoSPA statistics, the bath is one of THE most dangerous places in the house.

I remember when I saw Denise Trubb out on Upper Street (donkeys' years back, mind) and she had a huge black eye and bruising all down one side of her face, neck, hands and several stitches in her lip.  I said: 'Blimey, what happened to you?' (expecting to hear 'car accident')
And she goes: 'Bloody bathroom.'
I said: 'Get out of town.  Did it turn on you?' (Which she didn't find funny, can't blame her really).
And she goes: 'I slipped getting out of the bath on me new ceramc floor tiles, landed on my face and passed out.'
I said: 'Dear oh Lord!'
And she goes: 'It gets worse.  When I finally came to, covered in me own blood, I got on my hands and knees, going: 'oh, oh, christ.'
'Fair enough, mate.' (that's what I said)
'But I was all fuzzy and couldn't quite see properly, crawled a few more inches and tried to stand up, but didn't realise that I was right under the sink.  So as I stood up I cracked my head on the underside of that and knocked meself out again.'
'Cor, dear, what a sketch.' (That was me, again).
'Tell me about it.' (That was Denise).

Yeah, so don't tell me about bathrooms.  I've got linoleum in mine.  Ceramic tiles, perchance!

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