When to leave; also, a man with a gun
Apr. 18th, 2026 08:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootYesterday was full of lessons in leaving.
First, a local Munchausen master; https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cjw7ey0gj4qo
I know details of this story through a friend of mine being close to the family deceived in the above lady's shenanigans. We talked about the whole thing yesterday over tea and strange folded pizza. The Munchausen lady served about 4 months of her jail time and is now out, wheedling for contact with her traumatised children. My friend revealed the lady's antics had been almost public knowledge, which is to say the neighbours observed all and remarked upon it often.
'Aye,' said my friend, 'she was one of those people who always has something wrong with them, spent as little time in work as she could manage. Everyone knew. They called her Sicknote.' I nearly spluttered tea all over myself.
It was a day of neighbours and locals. My chum and I bumped into her neighbour, a gent of 78 who suddenly has to move house. His landlady, having told him his lease was safe 6 weeks ago, gave him 28 days notice three weeks ago. He and his wife had been paying £1,250 per month. He's OK, having found somewhere at the same price less 50 quid, but of course it's a shock. Personally, I am astonished that rent costs so much around here; not only do I think this rent was crazy but 28 days is very little time for an elderly couple to find a new home. I suppose the landlady must be facing a break-up or emergency to pull such a trick. The good news is that he moves now to a place with a supermarket in line of sight, easier as he doesn't have a car and he's not comfy doing online shopping. So as well as being cheaper the move may well improve his quality of life. But for all that, there's no getting past the cloud moving gently over the landlady's rep.
Meanwhile, my brother phoned me after a contratemps with what we might call a local character. He was walking down the street on his way to a meeting when he heard a voice shouting that they were going to kill someone. Now bro and I both have this habit of wandering deep in thought, to the extent that we don't necessarily notice what is going on around us. Hypervigilance has cured me - perhaps overcured me - bro not so much. Without thinking he told the voice to be quiet because the noise was breaking his concentration.
Then the guy shouting pulled out a gun. And for sure my brother paid attention.
He talked the man down, cajoled and persuaded. Said the yelling would create unnecessary witnesses, acted like some old ex-felon out on the streets, well versed in the way of these things. The guy said the info was useful, put his gun away and wandered on. My brother went to his meeting.
But he phoned me because he found himself processing this and didn't know what to do. Apart from blistering his ears for being so unaware of his environment, I congratulated him for getting out of the situation; but he should have told the police. Even at the rough edges of London, guns are rare and definitely illegal. He confessed that apart from the height and colour of the guy he couldn't remember anything about him. It sounded like the blanking effects of shock. I mentioned there might well be CCTV along the road, so off he went and reported the crime. And I sat there thinking that while he loves London, maybe he should consider selling up and going to live elsewhere.
It's a real gift, knowing when to leave.
First, a local Munchausen master; https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cjw7ey0gj4qo
I know details of this story through a friend of mine being close to the family deceived in the above lady's shenanigans. We talked about the whole thing yesterday over tea and strange folded pizza. The Munchausen lady served about 4 months of her jail time and is now out, wheedling for contact with her traumatised children. My friend revealed the lady's antics had been almost public knowledge, which is to say the neighbours observed all and remarked upon it often.
'Aye,' said my friend, 'she was one of those people who always has something wrong with them, spent as little time in work as she could manage. Everyone knew. They called her Sicknote.' I nearly spluttered tea all over myself.
It was a day of neighbours and locals. My chum and I bumped into her neighbour, a gent of 78 who suddenly has to move house. His landlady, having told him his lease was safe 6 weeks ago, gave him 28 days notice three weeks ago. He and his wife had been paying £1,250 per month. He's OK, having found somewhere at the same price less 50 quid, but of course it's a shock. Personally, I am astonished that rent costs so much around here; not only do I think this rent was crazy but 28 days is very little time for an elderly couple to find a new home. I suppose the landlady must be facing a break-up or emergency to pull such a trick. The good news is that he moves now to a place with a supermarket in line of sight, easier as he doesn't have a car and he's not comfy doing online shopping. So as well as being cheaper the move may well improve his quality of life. But for all that, there's no getting past the cloud moving gently over the landlady's rep.
Meanwhile, my brother phoned me after a contratemps with what we might call a local character. He was walking down the street on his way to a meeting when he heard a voice shouting that they were going to kill someone. Now bro and I both have this habit of wandering deep in thought, to the extent that we don't necessarily notice what is going on around us. Hypervigilance has cured me - perhaps overcured me - bro not so much. Without thinking he told the voice to be quiet because the noise was breaking his concentration.
Then the guy shouting pulled out a gun. And for sure my brother paid attention.
He talked the man down, cajoled and persuaded. Said the yelling would create unnecessary witnesses, acted like some old ex-felon out on the streets, well versed in the way of these things. The guy said the info was useful, put his gun away and wandered on. My brother went to his meeting.
But he phoned me because he found himself processing this and didn't know what to do. Apart from blistering his ears for being so unaware of his environment, I congratulated him for getting out of the situation; but he should have told the police. Even at the rough edges of London, guns are rare and definitely illegal. He confessed that apart from the height and colour of the guy he couldn't remember anything about him. It sounded like the blanking effects of shock. I mentioned there might well be CCTV along the road, so off he went and reported the crime. And I sat there thinking that while he loves London, maybe he should consider selling up and going to live elsewhere.
It's a real gift, knowing when to leave.
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