Mad Maurine
There's a crazy woman lives down the road I grew up in, went to see my Mum the other day and she's still there and still crazy as ever.

Woman by the name of Maurine, lives at number six. Bad house, scary house, even more derelict that I remember. Pebbledash falling off the walls, six foot of grass growing in the front garden. The lead yellow paint flaked rotting wooden doors hang from their rusty hinges.

As kids we used to rush past as quickly as possible, Mad Maurine had a tendency to stand in the drive and shout obscene abuse at anyone who passed. To tell you the truth most people crossed to the other side of the road if she was about.

"FUCK OFF CUNTS", she would shout. Us kids learnt most our swearing from Maurine.

"HOW WOULD YOU FUCKING LIKE IT IF THE WANKERS CUT YOUR FUCKING ELEC-FUCKING-TRICITY OFF?!", she would sometimes shout.

Some days from a safe hiding place you could witness her weekly crazy trip up our road to the local shops. She always returned from the shops with two carrier bags of shopping. The mad thing was she could only carry one at a time. So she'd walk about twenty paces with one, put it on the floor and walk back to the other one she'd left twenty paces behind, then it'd be a walk 20 paces past the first one and repeat.

I've never bothered to sit and work it out but I bet that mathematically she'd done more than two trips to the shops doing so.

Then there was her tendency to throw things at kids, half bricks, empty milk bottles, sticks, dog shit, anything she could get her hands on. From which arose the following rhyme that has stayed with me ever since.

"Sticks stick, bottles and bricks,
they're all thrown from Number Six."

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( teknohippy Arghhhhh!, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 10:19, Reply)