You may have noticed that many of my posts are not exactly filled with jollity and often have a melancholic overtone throughout.
I do apologise for this, but the reason is that I live next to the neighbours from hell. Seriously, I’ve lived in over 50 different places and even though I got arrested at my last home for punching my neighbour after he let his barking dogs out at 5am for nearly two years running, despite our repeated requests not to (my wife worked the late 12 hour shift and we didn’t get to bed much before 1a.m. - his garden fence came right up to the corner of our bungalow’s bedroom) this lot are worse.
Pretty much every evening, every weekend, either all day Saturday or ‘just’ Saturday afternoons and all day Sunday he’s got his power tools out. Not only that, he sets his workbench up just feet away from our back door - he couldn’t get it any closer to our house. In the week they built a wooden workshop which runs along the other side of the fence, but he’s still doing all his bench-cutter work etc in the same place.
They also had two children a couple of years back, who they let behave however they like - which usually involves hammering things, screaming very loudly as much as they can, like little girls, though they are two boys.
Would you believe, the mother is a registered childminder and has a group of children to ‘look after’ every weekday. We never had a problem with those - they behave really well, it’s their own children that are the noisy ones (and yes, I’ve had my own and I know what it’s like, but these children are completely uncontrolled).
We have some friends, the people who live the other side of these nighbours.They are around 80 years old now and she suffers anxiety, parkinsons and all sorts of stuff. They complained to the council and got fobbed off. They ended up buying a caravan, just to get away - and now they go away every month - just to get away from the noise. Now they are considering selling their house, even though they have lived here all their married life and were happy here before. Unfortunately, we can’t do that.
I’d like to pay the guy a visit with my baseball bat, Maude, but I’m not going to go to jail for this barsteward.
Anyway, just a few words of explanation - I’m not a miserable old, cynical git - I’m just miserable.