Half-witted interfering neighbour called round while I was in the bath and spoke to Jimmy.
She's come up with this idea to change the name of "Gert Cottage Boulevard" (not its real name), our little private drive to four cottages, to Laundry Road.
Over my dead, or at least inert, body.
Laundry Road - where the scrubbers live. Laundry Road - why not go further and call it Gas Works Street. Or go the whole hog and call it "Red Light Brothel Lane where you can buy your slap'n'tickle."
Yes, I am going to say, it will affect property prices to be saddled with such a crap address.
But I've come up immediately with a list of fifty organisations - excluding friends and family - who will need notifying of a change of address. Am I going to have pay for that? In cash and time? Not on your nelly.
And that doesn't include Fire, Ambulance, and Police. Sorry, if there is the slightest risk of any of those being delayed looking for somewhere that isn't on the map, due to some ridiculous notion of changing a perfectly good road name, well, that makes it an idiot idea.
Frankly, if people have nothing better to do with their time than fart around on ridiculous half-witted notions, well there's a Youth Club across the road that would probably welcome a bit of extra help. Although they would probably prefer people with some semblance of reality; not just interfering busybodies living on another planet.
