A Squirrel's Play Centre

Today's rant is brought to you from behind the scaffolding, from behind the blue mesh that blocks out the sky and the walkways that roll right past our fifth floor windows.

Today's rant is brought to you from a penned in writer who misses her view and can no longer use her balcony as she now shares it with squirrels and a whole host of birds that use it like their very own nature reserve.

I miss the clouds. I miss watching the storms. I miss being able to leave things on the balcony without them being torn apart by oversized rats with fluffy tails. And I miss being able to open the windows without fear of a creature or person wandering in. We can't even keep the curtains open as there are high-vis vests wandering around at any time. And there is only one room without windows, so you have to get dressed in the bathroom to conserve your modesty.

The squirrels are elated as they now have their own high-rise play centre. The interconnecting poles, the stairways and the netting, has provided them with plenty to do and the little pests think it is fun to destroy our planters and throw soil everywhere. The other day I left a bag of rubbish on the balcony in order to take down later, and when I went out to get it, there were several holes in it and food splattered everywhere. Little shits.

Everything is muted. The colours are all wrong, and behind blue netting and the rectangular metal mesh stuff - intended to keep out intruders - I am only able to see the world through a variety of shapes and gaps. You can't see the bigger picture. You can't see the whole. And you certainly can't ascertain what the weather is doing. The constant greyness often leaves you blinded when you emerge from the building into full sun.

We had builders in the flat yesterday checking the heating and pipes and flu line. And the manager had the audacity to go into the bedroom and  - failing to find the light switch - come back out asking where the light was in the 'children's room.' Rude. We don't have a second bedroom. We don't have children as I told him earlier. If that was the children's room then where the fuck would we sleep? And really, if he had made any attempt to look with his eyes he would have seen the double bed. Just because it's raised off the floor, doesn't mean it's for a child. Adults can have high beds too, especially when they're dealing with tiny spaces and can have wardrobes and storage space underneath them. My dad made that bed to perfectly fill the space. It's genius!

I think he realised he'd offended me when I immediately retorted, 'That's our room. We don't have any children and it's the only bedroom.' Where he thought we were hiding the other one I have no idea. To be fair, he was a bumbling mess and probably a few years younger than me, but really, open your eyes dick wad, it's a one bedroom flat.

It's strange to feel like you're being watched, up on the fifth floor. It was always me taking on the role of observer, photographing the clouds, looking down on the world and listening in to voices that drifted up to us. But now, I am caged and only they can look in. The view is obstructed, the world is changed.

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