To: Hancock Estates
From: Arthur Brittle
RE: THE MADHOUSE NEXT DOOR!
Dear Mr Hancock,
I would like to raise a few issues with regards to the property we are renting from you.
I am sure you will recall my concerns with living next door to a care home, to which you replied that they were ‘a bit of an eccentric bunch, but we should have no problems; they are harmless really.’ Well, Mr Hancock, I can assure you the residents of White Haven Care Home are about as eccentric and harmless as the Manson family! By the third week we had to check the signs on the doors to make sure we were in fact living next to a care home and not some prison for the criminally insane.
Our suspicions should have been raised when one of my children found a bingo ball in the back garden that first day. Later that day one of the “eccentric” elderly ladies from the care home, named Martha, came by with a freshly baked apple pie as a welcoming gift, which we thought was quite sweet – both the pie and the gesture. That was until the second day when old Martha came around with another apple pie as a welcoming gift. And the third day. And the fourth day. You see, old Martha has dementia and has been bringing us “welcoming apple pies” every day since.
Mr Hancock, we have forty-seven uneaten apple pies sitting in various trash cans. We can’t get rid of them quick enough.
But that’s the least of it. There’s also a woman there who calls herself Elizabeth. She thinks she’s the Queen of England; dresses all in white, wears a tiara and everything. Spends her days waving regally out of the windows with a yellow latex glove on. I wouldn’t mind but her bloody Corgis attack me every time I leave for work.
But yesterday was the last straw. Picture this: Christmas Eve, my wife and kids getting ready to have a nice evening meal, when we hear a noise from above and who should come down the chimney but bloody Kris Kringle himself, Father Christmas. He comes tumbling out of the fireplace covered in soot, carrying a sack of toys and smashing into our Christmas tree, crashing into the electrical systems, short-circuiting the house. Leaving my wife and kids screaming in the darkness with this fat stranger in our Christmas tree.
Turns out it was Mr Crumble, one of the residents at White Haven (or Broadmoor as we call it). Thought it would be funny to dress up as Santa, take a ladder up to our roof and fly down our chimney. He was left with a broken hip, badly bruised and with some nasty electrical burns down his right leg. We later found out that he has spoken to an injury solicitor and is putting in a claim against us. To top it all off, the presents he was carrying were gifts that me and my partner had bought our children that he must have somehow stolen from under the tree earlier that day and was simply trying to pass them off as his own.
So, Mr Hancock, sorry to trouble you on Christmas Day but if you could get back to us regarding our rental agreement as soon as possible that would be greatly appreciated.
Your beloved tenants,
Arthur and Sonya Brittle