Week 12, Day 1 (Long rant about "World's Worst Neighbour")

We kind of collect things - parrots, horses, gadgets.. you name it, really. Before Wayne and I got together, he used to visit the local recycling centre and bring home the odd thing that was worth fixing up. He was pretty discriminatory (for a packrat), but even so, there were a couple of washing machines etc on the edge of his driveway on his town property.

He had a diehard busy-body living over the road and down a bit, and she actually made noises about getting up a neighbourhood petition to make him get rid of these few items. Never mind that her alcoholic husband was much more of a neighbourhood nuisance - she was mortally offended by Wayne's bits and pieces, and needed a crusade.

There was a bit of talk, which eventually got back to Wayne, and which of course he laughed off. We were (by then) in the process of doing the place up so we figured she'd have to live with the sight of the occasional paint can and skirting board until the house was ready for sale.

She eventually shut the heck up - especially when the house was finished and was easily the nicest on the street, FAR outstripping her tired little flat. We sold very quickly, and moved out. I'm reciting this tale to give you a lead in to how fate can sometimes turn around and have a laugh at your expense.

We bought this farm from the (then) next door neighbour, who, I am happy to say was the world's most perfect neighbour. His stock never strayed, he minded his own business and liked that we minded ours, and in the five years we shared boundaries we never even came close to disliking anything he did. And did I mention he was cute? So was his brother, who also lived on the farm next door. Having very private but nice (and cute!) guys next door was lovely - we kept out of each other's way but I knew that if I needed big strong boys in an emergency, they were on tap - so to speak.

Unfortunately Steve sold up last year, and moved on. More unfortunate was the eventual buyer - a real nutcase. This guy had a property in the poshest part of Christchurch where he was the bane of the council and the neighbours, due to the amount of rubbish he stuffed into his section. A developer bought him out, and such was this guy's history with the council that they wouldn't trust him to load the containers on-site, but insisted he truck all of it out individually.

Guess where it came... yep, to the 50-odd acres that run alongside our farm. He wasn't at all daunted by having to fill a very large area with rubbish - in fact he set about cramming it to the gunnels with all the relish of a resolute fanatic. About a week out from his taking possession, I became so alarmed at the 100 + toilet bowls, same number again (or more) deceased lawnmowers, great piles of scrap metal and haybarns filled with filthy paper (can we say "Fire Risk"??) that I got in touch with our local council and asked them if this guy had filed for Resource Consent to run a scrapyard. Eventually I managed to get the desk boffin to at least stop yawning in my face and agree to have a look, which he only just found the energy to do. From the road, without even bothering to turn off the engine in his car. Nice to see our taxes being spent wisely.

He then sent two letters - one to us telling us that while it was clearly a dreadful eyesore, the council was happy that it was a private collection (!) and not a business enterprise, and didn't care what he did. The other letter went to the neighbour (but addressed to Steve!) saying that 'your neighbours are unhappy about your excessive hoarding, but you have more than 50 acres so we don't care what you do'.

I bet that old biddy ex-neighbour of ours would be laughing herself sick if she knew ;-)

Anyway, Looney (his actual surname rhymes with this, which makes him a sitter for the nickname) continues to hoard. He soon started on junked cars, and told Wayne he wants to have at least 3000 of them because he "wants to open a used car museum and make $10,000 a week from tour buses".

Oh yeah, you can see them lining up now, panting to get in...!

The junk has spread out through the paddocks, and now these can't be cut for hay or even mown short, which means acres and acres of tinder-dry long grass bordering our farm. Given the speed that fire can spread (esp that started by a reflection off a junked car mirror), we're feeling distinctly nervous.

Wayne has tried to get this guy to understand, but you can't make headway with the clinically insane. Before you think I'm overstating it, Looney's method of dealing with stop signs is to speed up before you get there so you get through faster. Heaven help anyone coming the other way and thinking they have right of way... No accidents so far, but you can't throw a stick in the locale without finding at least one person who was nearly killed by this dude, and saved themselves only by radical and swift evasive manoevres. And he's not driving a sedate sedan when he does this - he drives a thumping great 4WD with a trailer on the back (which usually carries another junked car). If he hits you, you're gonna feel it...

He turns up here sometimes (I swear he hasn't bathed or changed his clothes since moving out here), and Tamsin gets very upset. He's the only person that requires I have to take a good hold on her collar and not let go for anything. Tamsin's a good guard dog - noise and bluster with a threat you wouldn't want to test, but as gentle as a goldfish with humans. I would not want to risk that theory around Looney however (if she bit him, she might catch something nasty).

Look, I could go on about this guy for a year's worth of blogs, but here's some of the things that tell us he's not right in the head -

* Has a fox terrier that is a known sheep-mauler, knows that farmers kill sheep-bothering dogs on sight, but still lets dog roam free. When reminded of the danger he is putting his dog in, his reaction is to get very angry and threaten to kill himself in retaliation if anyone shoots his dog.
(Does that mean if the dog gets run over, that he'll throw himself under a truck?)
...Hang on a minute.. this nutcase has a gun??!!??

* Lives in a near-new house, but only inhabits the lounge where he sleeps on a filthy mattress on the floor, and throws all his trash out the door. (Yes, apparently there are some things even Looney considers trash). The rest of the house is filled with rubbish (the keep-worthy kind, apparently).

* The reason why he has hay barns full of old flyers and circulars (damp, filthy, not even good for compost) is because he believes that somewhere in there is a cheque for $6000. Good luck trying to get him to understand that the cheque is now outdated and worthless.

* Thinks absolutely nothing of driving all over the properties of others if he's looking for his runaway dog. If you go out to hail him down (ie stop driving over my hay paddocks, you wanker!), he glares at you and drives off at great speed, mouthing furiously and incoherently.

* Probably his main reason for buying **this** farm was the local dump half a kilometre down the road. The dump is open two half-days per week, and he can be seen raiding the rubbish dumped and bringing home trailer after trailer full of junk. The dump is due to close when the landfill reaches capacity (scheduled to be August this year). At the rate that Looney is removing the crap as fast as it comes in, the council will probably be able to keep the dump open for another decade.

We moved out to the country so that we could ignore neighbours and have some privacy of our own, but this guy is so scary (both in behaviour and impending fire risk) that we're reconsidering our options. We've been advised to get the Fire Service on to him (they are more proactive than councils, apparently), and at the rate he's going, a call to the Health Dept might not be a bad thing either. I sincerely hope the local cops get sight of his driving practices before he wipes out someone's family. I bet they find he doesn't have a licence.

On the bright side (this will offend some but I make no apology), one of these days he's going to succumb to the rubbish inside his house, either when it falls on him or if a pack of mice devour him in his sleep, and the property will come up for sale. Looking as nightmarish as it is, the price will be very low.

We will then be in a good position to step in and buy. That way we get a very nice piece of land (under all the crap, it's actually picturesque) that ensures no immediate neighbours EVER, and there's more room for horses and cattle.

How will we get rid of all the rubbish, though!