Forever Amber

Remember last week, when the nice man from the council came round to discuss my Neighbours from Hell problem? Well, the nice man was very helpful. He gave me a nice card, with a nice phone number on it, which he said I should feel free to contact any time, day or night, that the music started up.

A nice card which I immediately lost. For real.

As his car disappeared around the corner of the street, the music started up. Loud. Now, I could have called him back right then and there but I didn’t, because I? Was embarrassed. I had tried so hard to be good and rational, and to not seem like some totally crazy noise lady who walks around in orange headphones all the time because any kind of noise drives her completely and utterly batshit crazy. Even although I totally am that crazy lady.

Anyway, the noise started up again on Saturday afternoon, as I was out mowing the lawn. Again, I did not call, partly because I had lost the nice card with the phone number on it, but mostly because it was Saturday afternoon and I figured the powers that be would consider Saturday afternoon to be fair game as far as ear-bleedingly loud music goes. (I personally don’t understand this. Far as I know, if the music is too loud, it’s too loud whenever it’s played. It doesn’t become OK at 2pm on Tuesday, or on the fourth Thursday of every month.)

Yesterday afternoon, the music started up again, louder than ever before. This time, however, a new player had entered the game: the man in the house opposite us, who was listening to heavy metal and wanted the whole street to know it. It made me want to kill myself. I know it made Terry want to kill me, for sure. Instead, I came into the bedroom, which is on the other side of the house, thinking I could set up the laptop. But no! the kids across the street had set up a ghetto blaster on their front lawn. A ghetto blaster, people. Snipers, where are you when we need you?

So, this afternoon, Terry and I adjourn to the living room for our lunchtime viewing of Neighbours. As the theme tune struck up, however, so did a theme tune of a different kind: a pounding baseline so loud that even Terry was forced to break his usual zen silence and express his irritation. It was coming from a blue van/mobile disco belonging to two workmen who were busy digging something up in one of our neighbour’s gardens. (Note: not even our next-door-neighbour. This is a house two doors along). The workmen are apparently Green Day fans. They don’t wanna be American Idiots. But they sure are a couple of British Assclowns.

People, I put up with it until the end of Neighbours – not that we could hear Neighbours, of course. Then all hell broke loose. See, I always knew it would end this way. That I would control myself and put up with the noise for so long, and then, one day, something in my head would break and I’d issue from the house like an avenging angel, ready to set the world to rights by forcing two workmen to turn their music down. Which is pretty much what happened.

I mean, I had intended to be all reasonable and stuff, but when it came to it, my voice went all shrill, and I had to yell to be heard over the music anyway, so I guess I thought that seeing as I’d started off all shrill and shouty, I may as well continue that way.

They laughed at me.

I knew they would. I don’t exactly inspire fear, you see. So I walked back to the house on shaky legs, rejoicing in the fact that although I’d made myself look like a freak, they had, at least, turned the music down. I poured myself a coffee (because yeah, I totally need more caffeine) and came up to the bedroom, which is my office at the moment on account of my computer being FUBAR. Let’s not even go there, though.

You can guess what’s coming, can’t you? As soon as I closed the door and switched on the laptop, the music started up again.

Someone shoot me. Please.