Ironically, once we put our house on the market, the teenagers drifted away for a while. Found other corners to infest. It was almost as though they knew. We purposely asked the estate agents not to put up a sign, because we didn’t want to tip them off. The last thing we needed was them hanging round when prospective buyers turned up for a viewing.
There were times in those last few months when we wondered if we’d made the right decision to sell, after only being in there for a year. But the damage had been done. And whenever those kids did stroll past, or sat down on the roadside outside our house… even just one of them, ratcheting his skateboard or bouncing a ball… the earlier disturbances came crashing back. And we knew it was only a matter of time before they, or others like them, returned.
That was down to the location of the house. On paper, it seemed perfect. A short, three house dead end off the main estate, with no neighbours on the opposite side… just a footpath. And a second footpath down the side of the final house in the row (our was the middle one) which led to playing fields. That had been a boon in the early days of lockdown. I took Sam down there most lunchtimes to toss a bean bag or kick a small ball through the goals. But at night, the playing fields drew the teenagers… although, strangely, not enough that they actually wanted to go there. They just wanted to be in orbit around them. And we were the main satellite.
We knew. Even if the worst of this year’s infestation moved on, others would settle here like flies in future. It was the perfect meeting place. And we could already see the next generation eyeing up the road outside our front window, measuring the curb for a sofa.
Our second Canadian of this countdown is Andy Shauf. A new name to me, discovered through Roddy Hart on BBC Radio Scotland. Imagine Jens Lekman if he was from Canada. I've used that comparison before, but it’s the best I can offer… except to say you might hear a little Paul Simon in there too.
