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Mrs. Monk's Would-be Diary, should have been written by Mrs. Monk, since she is the "Writer" in the family.
However, since she is a writer only in the conceptual sense, I have undertaken to fill these pages on her behalf.
If not by her, these pages will certainly be about her, and other important matters of the day

Leslie Monk, the long suffering.

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Sunday 18 July 04
Love thy Neighbour
We had expected a loud party from neighbour due to balloons and banners on Simon's door, announcing, "this way to the party". I made up alternative banner and added it to the door so it read, "This way to the QUIET PARTY"
We were relieved to get a good nights sleep.
Nevertheless, we woke up to the sound of hammering from the house, three houses away, where they are "modernising".
Besides me, Mrs. Monk.
She asked me if it were legal to work on Sundays.
"No", I said, but she already knew the answer. She was really asking me to do something about the illegal hammerings, but I continued to lounge away a Sunday lie-in.
Eventually rose and did some domestic chores until mid afternoon and got ready to visit Kate's house to celebrate or commiserate on Mrs. Monk's imminent departure from her present school teaching position.
Put on some brand new trousers and some deodorant. It was a muggy day.
Last words spoken to Mrs. Monk before we left the house were, "I don't have my keys, you have them"
The door slammed behind us, but neither of us had keys.
Walked around the back of the house and considered climbing over 6 ft wall covered in saturated overgrown ivy in my new trousers. Thought better of it.
Returned to front of house.
Mrs. Monk went about calling our neighbour Simon so that we can access our rear garden from his. Simon tends to sleep during the day. He has his reasons.
Meanwhile, I noted a first floor window was open.
The hammerers were still at work so I waltzed down and asked to borrow a ladder, making sure to make polite small talk.
Not only did they loan me a ladder but they carried it down the road for me.
Before I could climb the ladder, a further fuss was brewing. Simon had stepped out of his house, responding to Mrs. Monk's phone call and, having been fast asleep, rubbed his eyes, and pondered his front door which he also allowed to close behind him.
We were now all locked out of our respective houses.
I looked down at Simon's bare feet.
I made my way up the ladder and soon realised that there was only one way through the small top window, head first, and hope for a soft landing.
Simon was eventually able to get back to his rear garden by way of our rear garden, over the fence in his bare feet, and with the aid of different ladders. His back door was open.
We made further preparations to set off once more. Mrs. Monk thanked the builders.
"Thank god you are working on Sunday", she said with some mischief.
"So where are my keys Mrs. Monk," I ask.
She confessed sheepishly, they were in her pocket all the while.