That's when good neighbours become...

Neighbours made me cry this week. I never thought it would happen but it did. When I was younger than I am now, there was always the rumour going around that one day neighbours would end, and that a plane would crash on Ramsay Street and that everyone would die except Helen Daniels. Well that old bitch died years ago, so I thought it was safe to assume that was a crock of shit. That was until this week came along and Paul Robinson chartered an old school plane with all the characters on it and some motherfucker put a bomb on it. I thought it would be cheesy and an anti-climax in the traditional Australian style, but no. It was more epic than a sumo wrestler fighting a bear. And I thought they were all dead. And even when it turned out they weren’t it was so well done that I shed a tear for the pain my fake friends were feeling.

Maybe that’s what happens when you spend enough time on your own in your room. Your fake friends become a bit too important to you. But at least for half an hour everyday I’m not alone. Like I am on this blog. I asked if anyone was reading this to sign. And you didn’t. So now I’m back to screaming into a plastic bag. I don’t mind though, it means I can talk more shit than ever, if my only audience is me. Any old crap holds my attention. That’s why neighbours made me cry this week. I never thought it would happen but it did.