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Jan. 17th, 2006 10:47 amDearlings,
A few days ago one of Jackie's (drug dealer) mates, Emmy, (drug dealer, psychotic) came round to the house, quite literally hopping with rage, claiming that he had given Jackie money for rent for three months, and that he had a right to come back and live in the house. Dumb Nikki placated him by saying he could stay temporarily. A couple of days later, having moved out, Nikki told Emmy that we were all moving out that day and that he couldn't stay that night. Lizzie and I decided to stay in the house. We hopped into bed last night and were just drifting off when we heard dreadful scraping noises outside. Someone was trying to get in! A hand appeared at our closed window, trying to force it. By this time I'd frozen because that's what I do when I get scared. We suspected it might be Emmy, and hoped he'd go away. But he kept trying to get in. I was afraid he'd start to get angry and violent. Then we heard crashing noises out the back, and that is when we (Lizzie - actually - I lay there like chicken) called the police. By the time the police arrived, he had removed all the louvres from the bathroom window and climbed in. The police knocked on the front door. I leapt up to let them in, opened the bedroom door, and there was Emmy, sweet as pie, saying he hoped he hadn't annoyed us, and why were there police in the garden? The police were very stern and said we should make a complaint because he shouldn't have broken in. We felt very bad for him, but he'd frightened the crap out of us, and the police could see that we were two girls in a big house, alone with a drug crazed fiend. They said throw the book at the little bugger! and we said ok. They led him away in handcuffs out the back way. He caught sight of me, gazed at me pitifully and said he was sorry. One of the detectives turned off the gas on the stove and asked us if we'd been cooking. No. Emmy! The little sod was about to cook the last of our pasta. There's a strong possibility that he broke in because he was hungry.
(Some of the police were in uniform and some of them were detectives in plain clothes. They were all serious and kind. Phwoar!)
I feel sorry for him but I'd found out from Nikki earlier on that he'd lost custody of his child for assaulting her mother and faces court or jail for it. He is also a drug dealer. Maybe that's why the fuzz were keen for us to formalize a complaint against him, so that they had excuse for a little chat.
That is all the news I have. Never let it be said that this holiday has not been full of adventures.
Lizzie and I are going to write a children's story. It's called 'Emmy Breaks In.'
Emmy is a drug dealer.
Emmy smokes a lot of drugs.
Drugs make Emmy smile.
One day, Emmy decides to visit some friends.
Oh no! The house is all dark and tight shut!
What will Emmy do?
I know! says Emmy. 'I will break in.'
How will Emmy break in?
Will Emmy break in through the front?
No.
Will Emmy break in through one of the windows, using a wheelie bin to help him get up?
He can't do that either!
How about the back?
Emmy thinks.
What about individually removing all the little bits of glass from the window and wriggling in like a grub?
Wriggle wriggle.
See Emmy wriggle.
Plop!
Into the kitchen.
Emmy finds pasta.
Police!
Why are there police in the garden?
Terrified flatmates talk to the police.
Emmy is put in handcuffs.
Emmy says sorry.
The police drive away, promising that forensics will be around to dust for prints soon.
They all drink lemonade.
The end.
Moral: Always say sorry.
Love to all,
Ari.xxxx
A few days ago one of Jackie's (drug dealer) mates, Emmy, (drug dealer, psychotic) came round to the house, quite literally hopping with rage, claiming that he had given Jackie money for rent for three months, and that he had a right to come back and live in the house. Dumb Nikki placated him by saying he could stay temporarily. A couple of days later, having moved out, Nikki told Emmy that we were all moving out that day and that he couldn't stay that night. Lizzie and I decided to stay in the house. We hopped into bed last night and were just drifting off when we heard dreadful scraping noises outside. Someone was trying to get in! A hand appeared at our closed window, trying to force it. By this time I'd frozen because that's what I do when I get scared. We suspected it might be Emmy, and hoped he'd go away. But he kept trying to get in. I was afraid he'd start to get angry and violent. Then we heard crashing noises out the back, and that is when we (Lizzie - actually - I lay there like chicken) called the police. By the time the police arrived, he had removed all the louvres from the bathroom window and climbed in. The police knocked on the front door. I leapt up to let them in, opened the bedroom door, and there was Emmy, sweet as pie, saying he hoped he hadn't annoyed us, and why were there police in the garden? The police were very stern and said we should make a complaint because he shouldn't have broken in. We felt very bad for him, but he'd frightened the crap out of us, and the police could see that we were two girls in a big house, alone with a drug crazed fiend. They said throw the book at the little bugger! and we said ok. They led him away in handcuffs out the back way. He caught sight of me, gazed at me pitifully and said he was sorry. One of the detectives turned off the gas on the stove and asked us if we'd been cooking. No. Emmy! The little sod was about to cook the last of our pasta. There's a strong possibility that he broke in because he was hungry.
(Some of the police were in uniform and some of them were detectives in plain clothes. They were all serious and kind. Phwoar!)
I feel sorry for him but I'd found out from Nikki earlier on that he'd lost custody of his child for assaulting her mother and faces court or jail for it. He is also a drug dealer. Maybe that's why the fuzz were keen for us to formalize a complaint against him, so that they had excuse for a little chat.
That is all the news I have. Never let it be said that this holiday has not been full of adventures.
Lizzie and I are going to write a children's story. It's called 'Emmy Breaks In.'
Emmy is a drug dealer.
Emmy smokes a lot of drugs.
Drugs make Emmy smile.
One day, Emmy decides to visit some friends.
Oh no! The house is all dark and tight shut!
What will Emmy do?
I know! says Emmy. 'I will break in.'
How will Emmy break in?
Will Emmy break in through the front?
No.
Will Emmy break in through one of the windows, using a wheelie bin to help him get up?
He can't do that either!
How about the back?
Emmy thinks.
What about individually removing all the little bits of glass from the window and wriggling in like a grub?
Wriggle wriggle.
See Emmy wriggle.
Plop!
Into the kitchen.
Emmy finds pasta.
Police!
Why are there police in the garden?
Terrified flatmates talk to the police.
Emmy is put in handcuffs.
Emmy says sorry.
The police drive away, promising that forensics will be around to dust for prints soon.
They all drink lemonade.
The end.
Moral: Always say sorry.
Love to all,
Ari.xxxx
