I’ve been suspicious for a while but a neighbour finally clued me in; some of the other neighbours’ kids have been using my back garden for the basketball hoop I set up.

I have mixed feelings; I don’t mind them using it, but every now and then something little gets broken or knocked over and hidden, or at least nothing said or apology given.

I decide to do the right thing and let their parents know, and let them know that it’s okay but that anything broken will have to be paid for.

I explain my thoughts to the kids’ mother.

Woman: “My kids wouldn’t do that.”

Me: “Look, it’s been happening for a while; other people have seen them. I’m not mad, but the breakages have to stop.”

Woman: “And I’m telling you it’s not my kids.”

Me: “Really? Okay, fine. If it’s these stranger kids — by the way, there are no other boys in the neighbourhood — who are using my garden, I will lock it, then.”

Woman: “Fine.”

Me: “Fine.”

I lock the gate and let the other neighbour know the kids shouldn’t be there.

Me: “Please let me know if you see them in my garden.”

Neighbour: “I’ll have camera footage if they do.”

Me: “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Not a week later, I find another broken knickknack, and my neighbour lets me know the kids have been round and shows me a picture. Yep, it’s them. I take the picture round to their house.

Woman: “Oh, it’s him again. Here to make more accusations?”

Me: “No, same ones as last time.”

I hand her the picture.

Woman: “Well, that could be anyone.”

Me: “It’s not and you know it.”

Son: “Who’s that, Mum?”

Woman: “Some tosser from over the road.”

Me: “I was telling your mum that I don’t mind you using the basketball hoop, but you need to pay for the breakages.”

Son: “Oh, I, err—”

Woman: “I told him! I told him it couldn’t be you.”

Me: “And I’ve just given her a photo of you climbing my gate.”

Son: “Listen, Mum, I—”

The woman just rants and raves.

Me: “You know where I live.”

To their credit, the lads came round, apologised, and offered to pay for what they broke, as long as I didn’t tell their mum. I offered for them to come back and use the hoop, but only when I left the gate unlocked.

I’ve been training for an upcoming charity obstacle course. Luckily, there is a circuit class running on a field right by my house. I’m early and watching over the equipment while the trainer runs home to fetch something.

A middle-aged woman walks over to me.

Woman: “Do you have to do that here?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “The running around.”

Me: “Oh, the class? It’s not mine, actually. I just attend.”

Woman: “Well, you shouldn’t! It makes me feel bad.”

Me: “It what?”

Woman: “I can see you all from my house, running and jumping around. It makes me feel bad about myself.”

Me: “Okay? I mean, you could join us. First lesson is free.”

Woman: “No. Why should I? You should just stop!”

Me: “Okay, I’m not going to bother talking with you anymore. If you don’t like it, don’t watch.”

The houses aren’t even close by; she must have been straining to see us. I turned back to see her kick a medicine ball out of frustration only for her to hurt her foot and limp the long walk back to her house.

[Friend] is super competitive; he’s not happy unless he’s winning — and preferably someone else is losing. It’s a bit annoying at times, especially when all he talks about is how much he’s won or how great he is. He never seems to remember all the times he’s lost, though.

I’ve joined his team for a pub quiz. I’m not much for general knowledge, but I know a lot about random facts.

The next question is read out.

Quiz Master: “In the Bible, who cut Samson’s hair?”

Friend: “Yes! I got it. It’s Delilah.”

Me: “It’s not. I know this one. It’s definitely not that.”

Friend: “It is; it’s famous. I’m writing it down.”

Me: “It was one of the servants, I’m telling you.”

Friend: “I’ve written it now.”

Much of the quiz is like this; he overrules everyone else. While he does get quite a few right, if he listened to us we would do a lot better.

At the very end, we come fourth and miss out on a prize.

Friend: “I can only get so many of these right on my own. You guys need to step your game up!”

We had the next quiz without him, and we came third!

Over the summer holidays, my class lost a member. [Classmate] is now a mother to an adorable little girl. The birth was in August, right before the school term started.

She spent a great deal of the last school year pregnant. And once she began to show, it exploded into a big scandal, and [Classmate] was expelled in May due to her pregnancy.

She eventually argued her rights to an education and reached a settlement with the school, where she was allowed to return and continue studying, but she was still relentlessly mocked by basically everyone for her pregnancy and motherhood — including, shamefully enough, my girlfriend and me. Both of us were her classmates, and we were rather nasty about our opinions on her pregnancy. We needled her relentlessly through most of September.

Six months or so later, in March, my girlfriend gave birth to our own adorable little girl. Turns up I knocked her up in June. That meant she was three months pregnant when we were mocking [Classmate]’s pregnancy.

The irony wasn’t lost on either of us. We learnt our lesson and promptly apologised to [Classmate]. She forgave us, thankfully, and our daughters are now playmates.

Related:
¡Que Embarazada!, Part 2
¡Que Embarazada!

I know when my neighbour has his grandchildren round because there is always a football in my garden. They are good kids, just playful boys around nine years old. I throw the ball back every time; it really isn’t an issue.

One day, I find a ball and throw it over. I notice a lot more noise than normal, screaming and shouting, which is odd because they are normally so quiet. I think nothing of it and go about the gardening.

The ball comes over the fence again. I throw it back. It immediately comes back over. I throw it back. The next thing I feel is the ball hitting me with some force, like someone has deliberately thrown it over the fence. I walk to the shallow bit of the fence.

Me: “Be careful, lads; that hit me.”

Boy #1: “Shut up!”

Me: “Hang on, who are you? You’re not one of [Neighbour]’s usual grandkids.”

Boy #2: “Sorry, it’s my cousin. We don’t hang around much.”

Boy #1: “Shut up, [Boy #2]! Give me my ball back, old man!”

Me: “Here. Just be more careful, please.”

I drop the ball over the fence, only for it to sail past my head, barely missing me.

Me: “Is this your ball, [Boy #2]?”

Boy #2: “No, it’s his.”

Me: “Great!”

I stab the ball with my shears.

Me: “Send your granddad round if you like. I would love to chat with him.”

[Neighbour] comes round, understandably angry, but he quickly understands why I did what I did. Turns out the other boy has always been a bit wild, but [Neighbour] didn’t think he was that bad. We talk it over and he promises to talk with him. I tell him I have several footballs and he can have one if he apologises.

I never get the apology, and the lad turns aggressive, so he gets picked up shortly after.

I peek over the fence.

Me: “Hey, [Boy #2].”

Boy #2: “Yes?”

Me: “These were my grandkids’ toys; they’ve grown out of them. Sorry for ruining your fun earlier.”

Boy #2: “Thanks! And I didn’t mind. He wasn’t letting me play with the ball, anyway. I’m glad he’s gone now.”

[Boy #2] came back several times for visits. I have to admit I was glad when the other boy didn’t show up again.