The Best Things in Life are Purple

Excellent news. I wandered back to the spot where I left the shoes and the tins of purple stuff. If you haven't a clue what I am talking about, mosey on back and read the previous entry. The purple playdo was gone. The high heeled shoes and the runners were no longer there too. Well almost. Further down the path there was a patch of grass to the right, and the white shoes were strewn there, looking distinctly forlorn. And one of the black high heeled shoes was lying there too, discarded. What happened to the other black shoe? Maybe picked up by a one legged disco dancer? Perhaps not, I suspect it had been thrown into someone’s backyard or on to the rail tracks. I decided that no one really wanted the shoes, now that they were soaked and dirty, so I dropped them into my black garbage bag.

I walked down the lane past Party House. The house is in disrepair, rented out and the occupants have parties most weekends. We’ve had no trouble from them. Occasionally we're awakened at around 2am by the steady base beat of unidentifiable music. This morning there was a beer bottle out front. Only one. Well there’s five cents for my troubles. A better class of beer this time though, a real pale ale. Party House rose in my estimation. In the middle of the road there was a broken car aerial. I added it to the collection in the garbage bag. All the paper I'd picked up today was soaked so the bag was getting pretty darn heavy this morning.

Just then another neighbour Blonde Olivia, called down to say hello from her deck, where she was smoking in a rather fetching purple housecoat, which matched the colour of the playdo quite nicely. We commiserated over the vast quantities of food and drink we’d consumed over Christmas. And that now were we paying for it. O picks up litter too. Recently she’d found two syringes right on the steps to her garden. Charming. She has two little boys who play round there all the time. I’m thinking I have a partner in crime in Olivia, maybe we can get together a litter posse in the spring and make serious inroads in to the more litter ridden areas round the BlogTrain.

I walked past Hedgerow House opposite the station. Yesterday instead of clothes strewn the hedge, there was what looked like a golf cart. As I mentioned in the previous diary, I think Hedgerow Neighbour finds this loot in his front yard and it’s his way of getting rid of it. OtherHalf agreed this time that this was not an art student project. Clearly the cart was too good to pass up as it was gone. I was disappointed not to see at least a pair of purple underpants strewn on the hedge today. The world has gone to hell in a hand basket, I’m telling you.