The neighbours

From ugly and rundown but basically functional, to joke porno set. I would've been inconsolable if this was my place, and out for blood over the fact that a friend or relative had given the perpetrators access.

Imagine getting home from a really bad day at work, or the deathbed of a loved one - and having to sit in this room with a cup of tea and your thoughts.

My mother has sent a selection of awful pictures showing how her neighbours new extension is coming along. At the moment it looks like a petrol station, complete with concrete forecourt.

When they discussed it, I suggested she ask them to give her a terrace on top of it, for the hassle. That's being done, which is the only saving grace of this monstrosity now mid construction.

RSVP to a residents meeting in the gardens at the first available opportunity, dates suggested or advance your own. I'll go to that - there's always good wine etc. It'll be to discuss what to do with the historic buildings grant from the trust, twice per decade. I'm going to champion the cause of generous street embankments of lavish florals, palm trees, and terracotta potted exotics - with an added selling point of all this jutting out into triangles of what's currently the road Tarmac to calm traffic, green the environment, and make it less appealing as a racetrack.

I suppose we'll be hearing more about the concept of uniformed Gurkha guardsmen. The last grant was lashed up the walls, quite literally, on tarting up the public areas with pointlessly expensive wallpaper, antique lamps, framed maps showcasing the diverse origins of the residents (my own features the bucolic village of Brompton, as was) and formal chairs to wait for taxis to arrive or provide rests on various landings. I can spot semen stains at thirty paces without my glasses on, and one of those chairs has been fully utilized by a pervert.

Car accident outside just as I typed something. Sounded and felt like a small bomb.

Very glad I don't park outside regularly these days - I was woken up overnight by the sound of a car being smashed to pieces. As I looked out, three guys were already leaping onto the next one. Another two were wrecked. It took me ages to fall back asleep.

There's an old lady in a flat across the way who often sits on her bed surveying the gardens, and when she sees me or my son she beams a huge smile and a cheerful wave like an old friend, despite us never having technically met her. We've just exchanged our semi-regular communication, so that was nice.

I wonder if she knows there's an attractive exhibitionist/pervert who likes to perform just a few feet above her. Most often with one hand/arm behind his head, the other one occupied.

A carrier bag from Valentino, containing diarrhea and associated tissues, was ownerless and overturned on the pavement as I returned from a walk earlier.

Par for the course round our way. Always worth slowing down for a look, because some people throw out/drop some amazing stuff. Due to face-mask related sensory block, I was a bit closer than I'd have liked before I realized this was no unexpected treat.

I keep hoping this one has sold up, but then an appearance on a television show, a magazine article, or God forbid but sometimes a walk outside - up she pops to remind me that she's still around sometimes...

There are now three dogs barking. The first, I recognise the bark, because it's always at it. It's set two more off - all coming from different directions. I was just getting relaxed when a door or window opened and the sound of a party started this chain reaction.

The good thing about hotels is that, if you don't like the neighbours, you'll have new ones in a couple of days.

The bad thing is that every weekend the neighbours are excitedly getting ready to go to, and later drunkenly staggering back from, a graduation or wedding or 50th birthday or anniversary or family reunion.

Last night I'd have happily taken myself off to a hermetically sealed Travelodge.

Around 3am, the incessant barking was drowned out by people singing 'Summer of 69' and 'Build Me Up Buttercup', etc, at the tops of their voices. We have quite a few air b&b style properties around here.

I was still awake at 4am. My son slept through the entire thing, and came through this morning looking thoroughly refreshed.

At least in a hotel you can call down to reception if the neighbours start up with Greased Lightning on a Sunday night/Monday morning.

You can, yes, but that never ends well. I was in a hotel once where the people down the corridor wouldn't shut up when the desk person came up and asked them, so she called the off-site security team who escorted them out of the hotel.

But they were too drunk to drive away, so they all stood outside reception arguing with the security guards and calling taxis and other hotels on their phones. Then the police arrived... it didn't quieten down till 4am, and I had to get up at 5.

Fangirl Three wrote:You can, yes, but that never ends well. I was in a hotel once where the people down the corridor wouldn't shut up when the desk person came up and asked them, so she called the off-site security team who escorted them out of the hotel.

But they were too drunk to drive away, so they all stood outside reception arguing with the security guards and calling taxis and other hotels on their phones. Then the police arrived... it didn't quieten down till 4am, and I had to get up at 5.

Yes, I'm sorry about that. Had you shouted out of the window at the time, I'd have apologized there and then.

We are discovering the joys of having an Irish neighbour here. Having not seen or heard me for over a week, he baked a Victoria sponge with raspberry jam and brought it up earlier, in case I was ill and needing cheering up.