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It’s a calm Sunday afternoon. In Sefton Park there is the food festival, Michelin star chefs over there and bands, something I’d be at if not for one thing.

My blood pressure meds ran out.

The pharmacy text us not long before it was due to close yesterday to tell us they were ready to be picked up, but of course we had no way of getting there on time. So Saturday and Sunday I am without my BP pills. Why is this a thing? Well, without them my BP is dangerously high and Sunday is the day I’ll be most vulnerable to stoke/heart attack. So off course the neighbours choose today to be bastards.

An old bitch from another floor rings our doorbell. Over and over and over again. When Simon answers she flies into a litany of rants, telling him he’ll be evicted for leaving rubbish on the landing. To put this into context, until Grenfell Tower no one cared about rubbish being left on the landing, and for us it can be semi common because:

A/ Simon cannot always leave me to go down and sort it (we are on the 11th Floor and it takes a while to get there and back) and

B/ We have two cats, so the rubbish we take down right away is always their litter and stuff likely to stink.

Yes, we care about fire hazards, but we are also wrongly placed in an apartment on the 11th Floor and are in the process of moving – hence the rubbish. Most of it is stuff we are chucking to make the move easier and old boxes etc.

My head is pounding again and I am trying everything I know to keep calm. The moment I came out on my crutches the old bitch left, not answering me or challenging ME about the rubbish! Threatening a disabled woman with eviction is far harder than some random man you see as a chav!

We need to move. We need to move. We need to move.

I am sick of these old people who smoke tobacco and weed and make me physically sick with it! Yet I have to put up with their shit?

I am going to lay down now…