THE ONE WHERE IT’S THE CURMUDGEONLY FINAL
Curmudgeon Avenue has been going on for quite some time, some would say for longer than reasonably necessary. In this Curmudgeonly edition, the nincompoops of Curmudgeon Avenue would like to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Gordon Bennett is obsessed with the pothole growth on the street as we get proper emosh at Wantha and Ricky’s wedding. Christmas is coming, and Francesca is getting fat meanwhile Zandra may have overdone it with the scented candles. And the ghosts are immune to any lockdown restrictions.
Put down the sausage rolls and the leftover wine, A Curmudgeonly Christmas is a perfect end to the Curmudgeon Avenue series and the year!
Written with British English Grammar and turn-of-phrase.
‘Toonan! This is going to be a disaster!’ Francesca rushed to the counter at Genevieve’s in her dressing gown, having noticed Toonan walking down Curmudgeon Avenue.
‘What’s going to be a disaster?’ said Toonan. She had little sympathy left in her with all her sister’s dramas (not Wantha’s fault, for a change). And Mrs Freemantle on the phone every two minutes with concerns about her mother. (Unbeknownst to anyone other than Patchouli, she had managed to escape Doris Freemantle’s watch by leaving and arriving at the back window of Gil Von Black’s house). At least the sisters were now aware that Patchouli was alone in that big house. Weird that she would try to keep that a secret…
‘What’s going to be a DISASTER?! Getting married, of course, SUZANNE!’ Francesca had become rather self-absorbed in her temporary hormonal state.
‘Charming,’ said Matteo behind his Perspex visor.
‘I mean about the WEDDING DRESSES. Have you picked out what kind of dress you want?’ Francesca asked Toonan in almost an accusatory tone. Perhaps a double wedding wasn’t such a good idea after all.
‘No, no, lissen, Francesca. I just popped in for a coffee.’
‘Coming right up,’ said Matteo.
‘I’ve had a lot on my mind,’ Toonan took the cardboard coffee cup and added the stress of choosing a wedding dress onto her own shoulders. No big deal, once she had picked one, she could stop thinking about it.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Francesca reverted to her usual friendly self. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Yeah, don’t worry about me. Lissen, I’ve got to get off I don’t want to be late for work. Tell you what, I’ll come round later and we can get everything sorted out… Actually, we’ll have to video chat won’t we?’ Toonan trundled off in the general direction of Bury. Hopefully, that coffee with its top-quality caffeine can counterbalance the things on Toonan’s mind. Do not stop at Wantha’s house on your way out of Curmudgeon Avenue, though.
Later that same day, when the hospital had been cleaned within an inch of its life, and all of Whitefield were on a caffeine high (not much is open at the moment for daytime takeaway treats). Toonan sat down, put her feet up and cracked open a can of cider.
‘Matteo, what are you doing in the same room as Francesca?’ Toonan said as she connected to Francesca’s Skype.
‘I live here!’ said Matteo.
‘I know you do, but do one mate, Francesca and me are choosing wedding dresses, you’re not allowed to see.’ Toonan knocked her head back with her can.
‘Alright, Toonan. I see Paul is doing as he is told,’ Matteo nodded at the empty space next to Toonan.
‘Yes and no. He’s upstairs cleaning the bathroom. Small Paul is doing all the cleaning at the moment to give me a break from… cleaning.’
Get your copy here: