I am so p****d off I can barely breathe. I live in Lancashire amongst some of the most disagreeable people I have ever had the misfortune to meet. On either side are two b***hes of women who have taken umbridge over what can only be the smallest of irritations since we are careful to be good neighbours; behind is an old b****d who is half demented and smashed down a climbing plant I had planted because it was on his trellis, and we had to build a separate trellis on a common boundary - 6 inches in from his. Next door but one have god knows how many children who are permitted to scream - and I mean SCREAM, all day, every day, from morning to noon to nighttime when the weather is not raining and they play in the garden. Diagonally opposite is a man who owns little dogs that cannot bark, but squeal very very loudly. One time I had to go round at 5 in the morning and bang on his door - for a long time, since he knew what the problem might be, and get him to shut it the whatsit up. Which was the point from which his neighbour, the old b*****d behind me, started to be an old b******d.
There are hardly any groups here that I wish to join. I tried the writing group but was astonished to find that the attendees were barely literate. Tried a couple of other groups but found that either they were not really for me or that I was not particularly welcomed. For example, at the sewing group I was one of eight, and the brain fog did not endear me to the 'teacher', who gave me five minutes of her time to the twenty she gave to others explaining the intricacies of hidden zips, wonky seams and iron-on backing. I know - I timed it to make sure I wasn't being paranoid. And I guess that girly teachers in size 12 don't really want to show old heifers (as I am sure she viewed me) how to make dresses.
I guess I have the wrong accent or use words that were "too big" (an accusation that was leveled at me at a Lancashire university - on a post graduate course) or I think too much (another old one) or what? I'm too fat? Too old? Too clever? Too posh? Whatever it is, I am distinctly not liked.
Why I might be not liked, or even disliked, is something I have thought about, worked on, tried to analyse. But I was liked in Scotland, where I lived for several years and had many friends from every stratum of society, from ex-Barlinnie inmates to wealthy and successful business people and professionals. I liked them and they liked me. But the sad, the really sad thing is, now I am becoming someone I don't want to be around. It's taken nearly ten years trapped in this hateful small-minded little place, but here I am, sad, lonely, and angry.
Some of the Scots I knew had a saying they'd use wryly. "Life is sh** and then you die." I used to wryly laugh at it.