Punch a Z-Lister Today (Part Two)

It looks as if I can put the shotgun back under the floor boards. One of the two houses which had recently been sold on my terrace has gone back on the market. Clearly, the combination of a funeral procession and my glare have frightened off Nick Knowles. It's a real relief, I can tell you. A few years ago a friend of mine had a minor celebrity move in a few doors down from them. As if having them wandering around trying to pretend that they're not really famous, just a regular person like everybody else, but at the same time so obviously wanting to be recognised, my friend and his neighbours also had to suffer the z-lister's 'celebrity' friends turning up and being patronising about everybody's gardens. Before they knew it, their street had become 'trendy' and they found themselves suffering a minor celebrity infestation.

Pretty soon they couldn't move without bumping into some twat trying to look inconspicuous by wearing sun glasses in the rain. If it wasn't Vanessa Feltz hanging around the local burger van, it would be a drunken Dave Lee Travis pissing in the litter bin at the bus stop. Perhaps worst of all, my friend found Richard Stilgoe lurking under his floor boards. Luckily, Stilgoe had only managed to get an upright piano under the house, not a full grand piano, but his songs and playing were still awful, often keeping my friend awake all night. He tried putting poison down, even setting traps, but all to no avail. Eventually, he no choice; he had to call in the exterminators. The other residents all chipped in, and a celebrity cull was carried out. Apparently it was bloody, but swift - the exterminators try and make it quick, putting a pillowcase over the z-lister's head before letting them have it with both barrels. Frankly, I'm glad it never had to come to that in my street. Thankfully some quick action at the initial sighting means that we can all sleep safe in our beds.