We called him Wesley one ear, he was a local Margate character.  What’s with the one ear I said to him?  I mean most people do have the two.  It’s certainly not everyday you lose half an ear.  A finger, yes – uncle Dickie lost a finger in a wood work accident.  It happens.  An eye, yes maybe, Gordon Brown is proof enough that yes, some people do loose an eye.  

But half an ear?  I mean where’s that got to?  It actually looked to the untrained eye, like someone had chewed half the ear off.

And funny enough, that’s because they had!

My mum had her 60th party on my actual birthday. Which was fine.  Cos I’ve always wanted, on my Birthday, to go to a barn dance.  No, it was actually a lovely thing to do.  Her and Felicity (joint do) had a cake each.  Yep you heard – a cake each.  That’s the way we do things in Margate 

So (because it was my birthday) my aunty Lynn was worried that I would feel left out.  Yeah, I didn’t.    But bless her she got me a massive, expensive, personalised cake.   She hasn’t got a lot of money.  Probably because she wastes it on fucking cake.  

So I cart this cake back to London.  I don’t like cake.  But one thing I hate more is waste.  So I thought, well, I’ll take it round the neighbours.  Cos that’s what your mum used to do in the 80’s.  cake was a treat.  None of this 99p Iceland business.  Cake was out of the wage packet.   Friends round for tea – well, we’ll have cake.  Cake?   Yes.  Brian – we’re having cake.  

Now, I don’t know my neighbours.  But nothing says hello like piece of cake.  The first one didn’t open the door.  Because it’s London And you don’t know if someone’s going to be armed.  With a Jammy Sponge.   It’s dangerous out there – I’ve just seen a teenager with some figgy-rolls.

Anyway, so I took it round to no38.  Chinese girl answered.  She might be Thai.   Anyway I said, and quite rightly so….  “Hi, I’ve brought you some cake.”

“what.”

“erm, cake?” (I did it with a slight accent)

“oh”.  Now she is clearly thinking, “I don’t know you, why would I want your cake?”.  But – I battled on.   It was the most awkward cake based conversation I’ve ever had.  It went a bit like this;

(Me) loudly as if she’s stupid and pointing cartoon-esque to the cake;

“Some Cake for you” (pointing at the cake and then her).  Quite an intimidating way to receive cake at 10am. 

“Yes.  But Why?

“Erm.  Its nice”. (it wasn’t).

She was probably thinking “what you fink I cannot afford cake?  You come round here with your big eye and big body and fink I never tasted cake is it”?

I’m not sure I would like it if someone came to my door with cake.   Ohh, some cake (that you didn’t want)… does this mean I have to talk to you?  Does this mean we have to be friends?  What’s the cake etiquette?  If it’s a bigger cake – do I have to invite you in cos I’m quite busy?  And what is cake-appropriate?  If someone comes with a big wedding cake – untouched.  And they’re crying. This does not say party cake.  If someone brings round party-cake.  Why was I not invited to the party?  These are all things to think about when confronted with cake.

We live in a diet conscious world now.  Cake is not as popular.  But no one would bring round an egg sandwich.  “Hi, I’ve just moved in next door.  I’ve brought you this.”  What is it?  “ah, its an egg sandwich.”  Excellent.  Erm, do you want to, do you want to come in?

I feel bad enough about having a cleaner.  Let alone a rubbish one. 

It’s embarrassing asking her to do a job once, but by the 3^rd time I really don’t know where to look.   

I asked her very kindly to go back and clean the shelf properly.  And I made jam on toast and tea – to show no hard feelings. Nice Jam – I used the nice jam.  The shelf is still dirty however, and I had to do the fridge again. This makes me really ticked off. 

I do feel bad that she’s on minimum wage, I suppose she’s thinking why should I clean the shelves properly, I’m being paid a rubbish amount.  I could pay her more but not for dirty cupboards – she wants to start cleaning properly and then we can talk.  The agency takes half the money though.  But I think it’s for insurance.   They sent a really funny email to say “Maria is not insured for bleach.  So please do not let Maria go near bleach.”  As if ‘that naughty little Maria – she’s got a mind of her own. The bleach-crazy rascal!’.

I realise this blog sounds awful and people have real issues in the world.  For example, Margery, next door but one has just had to put her cat down.

Still the cat was an asshole.