There is a woman who lives in the top half of our street known to me and Lyns simply as 'crazy woman'. All day, every day she stands on her doorstep and talks to passers in the street. The first time I encountered her she pressed a crisp £20 note into the palm of my hand and the following conversation took place:
Me: What's this for? (holding £20 note)
Her: Can you do me a favour?
Me: Okay (confused....very confused)
Her: Can you go to the off license for me?
Me: Okay (in a moment of madness). What do you want?
Her: You can get these fruit drinks, they're in amongst the wines.
Me: Okay. How many?
Her: 7 bottles.
Me: 7? Okay.
At this point I walked off with the money, came to my senses, returned back and told her I was too busy. There's no way I'm feeding this bitch's booze habit. Her husband will probably kick the shit out of me, poor man. No wonder he takes her door keys with him when he goes out.
Because she stands on the doorstep all bloody day we've started using an adjacent street just to avoid her. Yet another reason to get out of Liverpool.
Such is life.