In which I continue to moan petulantly about my own good fortune.
I am suffering from keyboard dyslexia.
This blog is currently being indifferently thrown together via the magic of the Other Half's ThinkPad. Ooh! A ThinkPad! Look - it has freaky Buck Rogers in the Twenty-Fifth Century fingerprint recognition and, um, some red bits and..
....and all the keys are about an eighth of an inch to the left (or the right. Or either) of where they were on my old laptop. This is irritating me, as I am retyping every other word. Literally. "Retyping" just came out as "retyoing". "The" becomes "htw". I'm thinking of giving it all up and relaunching as one of those terribly clever sub-Vic Reeves' Big Night Out blogs where everything is all angular and off-kilter and very, very smug. Think it'll suit me? If nothing else (or "wlwa", or "elwe" as that (or should I say "rgar") just came out) it'll take my mind off the noisy fucking neighbours. Hoovering at this time of night. Bastards. And only yesterday afternoon I had to go out onto the pavement and scare the living daylights out of two teenage girls who shamelessly stole the "Keep off the Grass" sign from outside the house. It doesn't belong to me or anything, and personally I could care less if they get their kinky little Asbo jollies from nicking small rectangular signs from outside other people's houses, but it was worth it for the satisfaction of watching Errant Teenager #1 being totally humiliated as the sign steadfastly refused to be pushed back into the topsoil and instead disintegrated, resisting all efforts to sort of prop one bit against the other. I stood there for a full five minutes, as she went redder and redder and Errant Teenager #2 got more and more uncomfortable and tried not to run away. Don't listen to the kids, people - getting old and curmudgeonly fucking rocks.
Anyway, I must be off. Only, balloons don't paint themselves as the Floating Head of Death, and if I'm going to go to all the trouble of tapping on Mr Thumpy's bedroom window with a long stick at two o'clock tomorrow morning, I need something to accompany the recording of me intoning "Don't keep running up and down the stairs, or Mummy and Daddy will be killed in a car crash..." in a scary, portentous voice.
Fucking neighbours.
This blog is currently being indifferently thrown together via the magic of the Other Half's ThinkPad. Ooh! A ThinkPad! Look - it has freaky Buck Rogers in the Twenty-Fifth Century fingerprint recognition and, um, some red bits and..
....and all the keys are about an eighth of an inch to the left (or the right. Or either) of where they were on my old laptop. This is irritating me, as I am retyping every other word. Literally. "Retyping" just came out as "retyoing". "The" becomes "htw". I'm thinking of giving it all up and relaunching as one of those terribly clever sub-Vic Reeves' Big Night Out blogs where everything is all angular and off-kilter and very, very smug. Think it'll suit me? If nothing else (or "wlwa", or "elwe" as that (or should I say "rgar") just came out) it'll take my mind off the noisy fucking neighbours. Hoovering at this time of night. Bastards. And only yesterday afternoon I had to go out onto the pavement and scare the living daylights out of two teenage girls who shamelessly stole the "Keep off the Grass" sign from outside the house. It doesn't belong to me or anything, and personally I could care less if they get their kinky little Asbo jollies from nicking small rectangular signs from outside other people's houses, but it was worth it for the satisfaction of watching Errant Teenager #1 being totally humiliated as the sign steadfastly refused to be pushed back into the topsoil and instead disintegrated, resisting all efforts to sort of prop one bit against the other. I stood there for a full five minutes, as she went redder and redder and Errant Teenager #2 got more and more uncomfortable and tried not to run away. Don't listen to the kids, people - getting old and curmudgeonly fucking rocks.
Anyway, I must be off. Only, balloons don't paint themselves as the Floating Head of Death, and if I'm going to go to all the trouble of tapping on Mr Thumpy's bedroom window with a long stick at two o'clock tomorrow morning, I need something to accompany the recording of me intoning "Don't keep running up and down the stairs, or Mummy and Daddy will be killed in a car crash..." in a scary, portentous voice.
Fucking neighbours.
posted by surly girl at 9:12 pm
13 Comments:
You evil witch!
(I mean that in a highly approving way, obviously.)
I'm still imagining an outing of fatties going to the chippy. And smiling a lot.
(I know that was yesterday... I'm behind the times as always).
A simple way of reducing next-door-stair-noise is to drill through the walls at strategic points and push test-tubes full of wood worms through before PolyFilla-ing up the holes again.
Genius.
Any more tips needed, come to me :)
You could knit them all matching slippers; reducing the noise on the stairs while introducing yourself in a novel way.
The various noise continued unabated last night until I felt the need to 'introduce' myself to the neighbours...well you would wouldn't you when the selfish c*nt is hoovering and drilling at gone 10pm at night !
Turns out he was blissfully unaware of the time or the noise he makes so agreed to quieten down. Suffice to say we had our best nights sleep since moving in. Long may it continue or I will revisit them and next time I won't be so polite.
There are few recompenses for getting older, but being grumpy and watching other people jump is definately one of them... Keep up the work!
Surely, with your record collection, you are always going to be able to win a noise war? Failing that, take up the tuba.
Noisy neighbours are a nightmare. Growing up back home, our neighbours, particularly the old lady, used to do all her cleaning in the middle of the night. Very very loudly. Used to drive me and the parents mental.
When my folks went away on hols I threw a rather loud GCSE exam result party until the wee hours, not worrying about the noise at all. The following day the neighbours middle-aged daughter came round shortly after my parents return. I shat myself expecting a serious grounding for having a party.
The talked at the front door from about 10 mins. I considered leaving the country.
It turns out old lady next door had died during the night.
I'm hoping this is not something I will pay for in the afterlife...
swap yer? :)
Well done Other Half.
yay for other half. I can't stand neighbors. I don't know how you do it. Our closest neighbor's house is about 50 feet away. Thank god they are good neighbors or you'd be reading about their deaths and my subsequent incarceration in the newspaper!
so happy for you three. :-)
sorry, can't stop gushing. I know it the kind of thing that makes you brits want to vomit but I just can't stop. see? :-)
* clears up puddle of vomit - thanks KG : ) *
I'm learning new things everyday! Floating Head of Death, eh? Must try it...
Love that nickname, Mr. Thumpy. Just love it!
Fucking hilarious! I'm glad your not my neighbor.
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