Wednesday, December 01, 2004


*...and I demand to have my blog up and working now or I'm changing to typepad, my audience need me....oh, I'm back on again. Thanks*

In a world of 6 billion people how is it that I get saddled with the cretinous bunch who happen to be plonked next door to me? Both sides. I mean, what are the odds of that? It's no coincidence is it? This has been done to try me.

It's been close on 4 months now since new cat moved out. And many weekends since then have begun with the unmistakeable sound of a house being demolished and rebuilt emanating from the house next doors adjoining room, peaking one memorable morning when we were shaken out of bed at 7.30am.

We didn't say anything at the time as a) they'd actually done us a favour as we'd set the alarm clock wrong and had slept in, and it felt churlish to complain when they had actually helped us, and b) they did had to redecorate and we'd had the inconvenience of a not very tolerant other side neighbour who would come round and complain at the sound of painting when CJ moved in. He actually asked us whether we would mind restricting our DIY to the hours of 6pm - 9pm, and not at weekends.

The drilling and banging stopped about a month ago though, but was then replaced with the drilling and banging of someones poor record collection. Loud dance music to be precise. There have actually been times where I can hear it above the TV and that's sacrilege, although the screaming that followed when I pushed CJ down the stairs after not having my tea on the table was conveniently masked. So it's good and bad I say.

There are no more exasperating things that a neighbour can do than play dance music very loud. The constant badum-bum-badum-bum-badum is extremely annoying - I mean, Celine Dion may get a lot of bad press, but if it was a choice between her and dance music for the music that I'd rather listen to through a wall, then Celine wins every time. At least she doesn't sing at 200 beats per minute - all credit to her I say. Although there are those that might say she ought to consider it.

The only other thing I can think of that would be more frustrating than that would be to play the same record over and over and over and over...and over, etc.

And then maybe the only other thing more frustrating thing than that would be to play the music for a couple of songs then switch it off for a while, then play it again for another 10 minutes then switch it off again.

And the maybe the last thing more frustrating than that, I would say, is to have a song in your head that you dont own or have never listened to of your own volition, just because you heard it through the neighbours wall!

Why haven't you been round Watski? I hear you ask. Well good question.

I actually feel like going round with some of my CD's and saying 'Look, if you're going to play shite then at least play some decent shite'.

The thing is that, as soon as I get up to go round it stops. Like they know. I'm like a jack-in-the-box, up and down. The Watski jack-in-the-box, available at all good toy shops this xmas. It's either that, or we actually happen to be going out in the very near future. So it seems pretty pointless.

"Excuse me, would you mind switching the music down" kind of loses it's relevancy when there's actually no music being played. And has even less relevancy after you walk down their path, get in the car and leave for the afternoon after you've spoken to them.

But the other day I had my chance when DJ neighbour started his Top 40 countdown. I waited 10 minutes to see if it would stop, and then I checked with CJ that we had no plans which involved leaving the house. It didn't stop, and we were staying in.

I put my shoes on and left the warmth of the house and went round. I didn't know what to expect the dance master to be like, so many people have come and gone from the house in the last couple of months that the neighbours could be anyone. Although I fully expected my mental image of a young guy with bleached blonde hair, sporting a burberry cap and fluorescent clothing, with piercing through anything that dangles, and doesn't dangle, posessing maybe a souped up Renault 5 GTI with big speakers, to be confirmed. He'd probably say 'nice one, mate and sorted' a lot too.

I knocked once.

No answer.

I knocked a second time.

This time I was aware of a twitch in the curtains. The music stopped.

Still no answer.

I knocked a third time.

The porch light came on.

Still no answer.

They were actually making a pretty poor job of pretending that no-one was in. Let's face it.

But still, the music had stopped. And I was only going to ask him to turn it down. I'd won the negotiation without even firing my opening salvo. I left whilst I was ahead.

And the music hasn't been on since.

Nice one.