A Wee English Twat 1997

My first landlady, Mrs Sharkey shopping on Abingdon Street on a rainy December in 1997. Mrs S (I never learnt her first name) was originally from Glasgow and came down with her husband for a new start in the 1960's. She had a bed & breakfast near the front for a lot of years but retired to a property on Whitegate Drive after her husband died.

30 years as a landlady had marked her temperament and she wasn't generally a fan of people. She reserved a special disdain for the English in particular,  whom she divided up into three categories; bastards, arses and twats. Being the latter was the highest position an English person could aspire to in the eyes of Mrs Sharkey, who I once overheard describing me to her sister as 'no bad for a wee English twat'. 

Sadly, others didn't get off so lightly. Whilst the rest of the country were still enamoured by Tony Blair, she dismissed him as a 'slimey bastard' whose wife had an 'arse for a face'. Which, in the fullness of time transpired to be an accurate assessment.

That said, she had a good heart and wasn't beyond overlooking the odd late rent payment or late night noise. Once she gave me half a bottle of vodka for looking after her cat for a week. Naturally it wasn't exactly a half bottle of vodka, it had previously been a full bottle that someone had consumed about half of and then forgotten.

RIP Mrs Sharkey.