The Trevor Mott Diaries

Diary of a Lazy Bugger

Week Two

By Trevor Mott

Monday 6th October

Woke early by accident, which was a mistake. The light was grey and unpromising, the kind that suggests rain even if it doesn’t actually deliver. Carla was already stomping about upstairs, probably rearranging her furniture again or conducting a samba for one.

Had a letter from the doctor reminding me about my physio follow-up. I ignored it. My back’s not exactly better, but it’s not worse either, and that feels like progress. Made toast, put too much butter on, then decided that counted as breakfast and self-care.

Denis delivered the post next door and I caught him glancing at my window. Hard to tell if he’s curious or just suspicious. I waved. He nodded once and left. I think that’s as close as he gets to friendship.

Tuesday 7th October

Rain. The sort that makes the pavements shine and the bins smell worse.
Went to Keisha’s for milk, of course. Ended up with milk, biscuits, and the running commentary on the neighbour who apparently left his wife for a woman who sells vape juice. Keisha doesn’t judge — she just reports.

She told me she’d seen Francesco out with Sophie on Sunday. Said he was “talking with his hands more than usual,” which is impressive because that’s usually all he does. I said maybe they were friends. Keisha snorted and said, “Men always say that.”

Back home, I caught sight of Mrs. Finch at her window. Curtains only half open, like she’s rationing daylight. She looked straight at me, then closed them. Effective communication.

Wednesday 8th October

Bins again. Margaret had hers out before sunrise. She times it to the minute. Hers are spotless. Mine look like they’ve been rescued from a ditch.

Francesco was trimming the hedge again — in the rain this time, which felt like performance art. He waved his clippers at me and shouted, “Weather is not problem for Italian passion!” I said something noncommittal and went back inside before he could involve me in anything.

Saw Akira in the hallway later. He mentioned that the rain was “good for clarity.” Not sure what that means, but he said it like a man who’s never had to dry socks on a radiator.

Thursday 9th October

Carla was in a mood. Could hear her through the ceiling — one-sided argument, all in Portuguese, and full of energy. She slammed a door, then immediately turned on music that sounded like it was recorded inside a carnival. I turned the TV up. This building’s version of diplomacy.

Yusuf’s car wouldn’t start this morning. He lifted the bonnet, stared at the engine for a full minute, then lit a cigarette and drove off anyway. The car made a noise like a blender full of marbles. I genuinely admire that kind of commitment to denial.

Gwen stopped me outside the shop and asked if I wanted to “reconnect with my inner peace.” I told her my outer peace was doing fine. She didn’t get the joke.

Friday 10th October

Denis delivered a parcel today, which was unusual enough. I forgot what I’d ordered — turned out to be a back support cushion I bought late one night after watching an advert that promised “life-changing posture.” I opened it, looked at it, and put it aside. No point rushing improvement.

Keisha was closing early for a family event, so she asked if I needed anything before she locked up. I said no, but she handed me bread and milk anyway, “just in case.” She worries about everyone. I don’t think anyone’s ever worried about her, which feels unfair.

Francesco came by again — no hedge-cutting this time, just loitering near Carla’s balcony. She leaned over and said something sharp enough to make him step back. He laughed it off. Probably thinks rejection is foreplay.

Saturday 11th October

The Ahmed kids were out with their scooters. Polite, as always. One of them waved and called, “Morning, Mr Mott!” I waved back and tried not to look like I was holding a beer at eleven.

Walked to the postbox for the first time in weeks. The air felt colder, sharper. Passed the Shahs’ place — smelled cake and cinnamon. Probably another order going out. Bibi waved from the doorway. She’s one of those people who always seems busy but never flustered. I envy that.

Margaret was pruning something in her small front garden with military precision. Said “good morning” like she was giving an order. I obeyed.

Sunday 12th October

Quiet day. Cloudy but dry. Gwen was doing yoga again, this time with a small speaker playing “ocean waves.” In the middle of suburbia. I could still hear Carla’s music upstairs, so maybe she had the right idea.

Akira was watering Nigel — the plant — and waved. Asked me if I’d slept well. I said, “Reasonably.” He said, “Reason is overrated.” I think he’s probably right, though I’d never tell him so.

In the afternoon, Keisha dropped by with some leftover rice and fried plantain. Said it “might go to waste otherwise,” which is her way of saying I looked like I hadn’t cooked all week. She’s probably right about that, too.

Watched the street go dim. Thought about doing some laundry. Didn’t.