I'm not happy. I had 5 hours sleep on Saturday, eventually going to bed at 8am. It had been a fun night traipsing through London and ultimately walking 2 miles home because Steve was about to throw up all over the nightbus. Back at the flat, I carried on drinking while Steve began to lose consciousness on the sofa.
Then a mouse ran past us and into the kitchen.
Perhaps that's why my landlord is upping the rent for the first time - three of us live here now.
I got up early on Sunday to see Steve off, and on Sunday evening I attempted an early night except my new neighbours upstairs, the two elephants, stomped about til 2am, meaning I got no sleep. I went to work on Monday, forced the searing pain of tiredness out of my mind as much as possible as the phones rang endlessly while a continual procession of customers walked in to interrupt my intense concentration.
I left to go home as soon as I could.
I was in bed by 10pm again last night. I assured myself a modicum of peace by speaking to my new neighbours to inform them, in my dressing gown and slippers, that they're 'stompers', although I made it clear with a sleepy smile that I felt awful for ticking them off simply for walking.
At 10:02pm, I bedded down for the night.
Then the bass started. That fucking selfish cuntbarge of a French neighbour in the block next to me just had to whack his music up.
'Til half past one.
Large Northern Flatmate and I gathered in the lounge and talked. We discussed moving. We considered buying a house together. Neither of us are in a position to buy with anyone else (i.e. future wives), so this may be the best option. I called my neighbour's landlord and left a screaming answerphone message along the lines of him doing fuck all in two years as his tenant continued making his neighbour's lives hell. I then phoned the local council's noise abatement line and gave them my details. Then, cringingly, I dialled 999 and asked for the police. As much as I didn't want to waste their time, I bit the bullet and called. My plan was that if it took more than three rings to answer, I'd hang up.
But they answered so quickly the phone didn't even have time to ring.
'Hello. This isn't really an emergency, but my neighbour is playing music again and...'
'Let me stop you there. That's nothing to do with us. Phone your local council.'
'But he's a habitual drug user and dealer*'
'That's irrelevant. Phone your council.'
(*I am more than aware of the hypocrisy of telling the police that my neighbour uses drugs. The difference between him and me is that a) I'm not habitual, b) I don't deal - not for a living, anyway, and c) I sometimes take drugs at weekends, realise that my life isn't really benefiting from it, then go to bed. I don't whack my music up to 11 in a crowded block of flats, thinking 'Fuck you all.')
So I went to bed as I listened to the dull throb of bass emitting from the other side of my bedroom wall.
When my alarm woke me up at 7am, I called my boss. He's a decent guy. He'd give me the morning off to recuperate. But it went to answerphone. I didn't have the balls to say I was staying in bed. Instead, I just whinged, and left it at that. Now I'm going to be late for work.