One evening I arrive home from work to find the front yard full of bagged up rubbish and sacks of shredded papers. On entering the house, the hallway is full of gaffer-taped boxes, and there is the sound of hasty packing coming from the room of my nemesis.
It was almost as if she had got wind that the immigration authorities had been informed she was in the country beyond the allowance of her visa but, well, I can't begin to imagine who might have done that.
Over the previous few months I had decided to make a stand against the nutter, meeting her campaign to bully any new housemate head on, taking them under my wing and instructing them to refer her to me the moment she tried any nonsense with them. To give her her due, she was formidably mad, and after the umpteenth time of having her in my face chattering like a furious monkey I realised I might not be able to face her off head on, and would have to look at ways to box clever.
A day after the commencement of her move, the last of her stuff had been packed, and I saw her dragging the last of it out of the door and out to the road. Rushing to the door, I called her name as if she’d forgotten something. As she turned, I triumphantly raised my middle finger, slamming the door with my foot.
Victory, but the time has come for me to be on my way too. Such timing has happened to me before.
4 weeks ago