“Tim, Tim,” I said, whispering in his ear as he lay sweating on a li-lo.
“Eh? What? Jennifer?”
“No mate, it’s not Jennifer. What the hell happened last night?”
“Not much, I couldn’t find any old ladies to chat up, so I just got drunk in Merchants again.”
“No, I mean with the door.”
“The door that you left open, the one that was stopping thieving gypsies stealing the hobbit’s bikes.”
“What? Oh my god, the door,” said Tim, rubbing the sweat away from his eyes. “I’m sure I…” I could see the clogs working in Tim’s mind as he realised he had left the door open. I filled him in on the night’s pleasant chat with the Son hobbit. The fact that he was after the culprit, and was demanding five-hundred euros from us.
“But why didn’t he have the bikes locked up?” he said.
“That’s what I thought, but you try telling him that.”
“He can’t get the money off us. He can’t prove anything.”
“I know, but he could beat it out of us.”
As we sat on the sofa, both startling now and then as noises came from next door, I suddenly had a brainwave.
“Let’s go see Joaquin.”
Luckily Joaquin also had problems getting out of doorways unless he was sideways on, but he wasn’t a hobbit, rather a giant. We nipped up the road to his Tanning Shop, where people often came out as orange Umpa Lumpas. After I told Joaquin what had happened he just laughed. Continue reading “Neighbours from Hell: Bike Hobbits contd…, plus the Boxer.”