The perpetual rain, coupled with a really charming incident over the weekend, has soured my mood. I've been thinking about this 'incident' that happened and trying to shrug it off as some facet of human behavior that is irrational and therefore dismissable, but frankly, it hurt my feelings.
The story goes something like this:
Our landlord has been in London sprucing up the exterior of the house. Sadly, he completely destroyed my gorgeous English garden (including removing my favorite purple butterfly bush) and has planted super boring, non-flowering plants. That garden, with all of its bright blooms and chaotic beauty, was one of the few things that I really loved about living in England and particularly this house. Anyway, after that wake of destruction, the landlord decided to work on the front of our house.
The front walkway had some ugly terra cotta tiles and he decided to put in (far more attractive) black and white Victorian tiles. I was totally on board with this as the house is a Victorian terraced house and that improvement would complement the style. So he and a workman set about uprooting the tiles and blasting through the concrete underneath so that they could repave and put down the new tiles. You can imagine that this created a lot of construction debris. In order to get rid of it, he moved it to an (ostensibly) empty lot across the street. That was at 4 pm.
At around 6 pm, the Canadian and I are having dinner and drinks with friends and at 8 pm we're inside Fortune Theatre watching "The Woman in Black" (very spooky!). We arrive home at 11 pm to see this:
You can't see it in the above photo, but just to the left is our neighbors home and a low fence separates our houses. So we go into their walkway and I sort of climb over the fence (in my heels) and land on some garbage and manage to get into the house. After I go upstairs to change, I come back downstairs and open the door to stare at the huge garbage dump on my walkway and notice something beneath the debris. I clear off some of the trash and see that, whomever did this, left a charming message (as if the pile of trash wasn't message enough) carved into the newly poured concrete.
Now y'all. If someone had dumped trash on my lot, I might have moved it back over to their house. I also probably (before-hand) would have knocked on their door and politely told them that my yard is not their dumping ground. But not even at my angriest and most confrontational would I write that word in someone's concrete. That is the height of passive-aggressiveness and frankly crudity.
First of all, the Canadian and I didn't do anything to this person. I mean, nothing. We didn't even ask for the front walk to be renovated. This was 100% our landlord. Our landlord started the construction, poured the concrete and moved the trash across the street. We had zero to do with any of it. And yet, this person jumped to conclusions and reacted to misguided information and just went off on some insane tangent directed at us.
As it turns out (after talking to the landlord) the guy found the landlord's phone number in the trash and called him (thinking he lived in our house) and told him off, saying that everyone thought his yard was a rubbish lot. Now, I am relatively certain that a $5.00 sign saying "Private Property, No Dumping" might cure people of those assumptions and thus would avoid having to spend time carving angry messages in your neighbor's concrete. But really, that just seems simple and maybe this guy likes his passive-aggressive behavior.
Regardless, because it has been raining, no one has fixed our little concrete billboard announcing to the world that the residents of this house are the vernacular (and crude) word for female genitalia. Good times, y'all, good times.