Lend Me Some Sugar

One of Bloody Ern's philosophies that could make him so easy to be around was the principle of "I'm up, everyone's up", which could make for some fairly early mornings when he started stomping around the house at 4am. But at least he generally adhered to daylight hours and the early evenings for his wakefulness.

My neighbours, on the other hand, seem to have adopted the same approach while choosing to be night creatures. This week I've averaged about four hours sleep a night, and with each successive broken snooze I can feel my sanity slipping a little further from my grasp. As I lay in bed last night, alternating between despair and murderous intent, I formulated a plan, which I have put into place today. To wit, I have complained to their real estate agent and the police and my next stop will be the council and I'll keep up this campaign of harassment and vilification until they're quiet, or evicted. Either one suits me.

I have become a complaining woman. But this blog has given me five years of solid training so who amongst us is really surprised that I've now taken my carefully honed skills out into the real world?

This morning, though, I thought I'd get things kicked off with a slightly more personal touch. The shenanigans finally wound down at about 8am and I decided to hang around at home for another hour. I figured an hour would give them just enough time to slip reasonably deeply into precious slumber. Then I went to their front door and I began knocking and knocking and knocking until, after several minutes, a couple of them finally staggered to the door.

"Oh, did I wake you up?!"

[hurt, offended, confused] "Ugh, well, yeah."

"Good!" [insert rant about good manners and decency, followed by a grand stalking off]

I doubt we'll be exchanging gardening tips over the fence anytime soon and I can't say I'm too sorry.

Howdily doodily, neighbourinos! I'm the anti-Ned Flanders.