The neighbour up the road continues to annoy the shit out of us and everyone else in the street with his constant boom-boom, house-shuddering music whenever he’s leaving or parking up his silver BMW. So today I decided to head outside and have a friendly word.
I was very reasonable and very calm as I asked him if he wouldn’t mind turning his music down. In response I got a load of mouth about him playing his music any ‘fucking volume’ he wanted to whenever he wanted to.
It got a bit heated from his point of view and it was very bizarre because I wasn’t in the slightest bit worried he would hit me. In fact part of me was actually hoping he’d take a pop so I could say I acted in self-defence. But he scuttled off into his flat, which he shares with his fellow BMW-owning, loud-music-playing, bad-wig-wearing partner, as quickly as his dented macho pride would allow.
I fully understand noise pollution is one of the prices of living in Central London but the man is clearly an ignorant twat of the first order and I will be having more words with him over the week. My plan is to wear him down with reasonabless. I’ll report back on this…
It was quite refreshing to know that Kensal Green, however, was not the only potentially dodgy neighbourhood in London this Yuletide because Walford is clearly another area with many troubles of its own.
The Christmas EastEnders saw the demise of E18 matriarch Pauline Fowler who died because:
i) she got a clump from her former daughter-in-law, then lesbian ex-daughter-in-law and now daughter-in-law-to-be-again Sonia
ii) she died of a broken heart after realising what a miserable old bag she’d become to her family and friends
iii) the actress Wendy Richard had had enough of them destroying the legacy of a once-great show and her once-believable character and decided to get out before it went further downhill
To say the Christmas EastEnders was the worst thing on TV would be an exaggeration. But probably not much of one. At all.
To see Bradley’s dad Max suddenly declare he really fancied his son’s former girlfriend Stacey Slater and always had done was writing of the worst kind. It was loads of exposition to explain why nobody had noticed it before and a purely convenient coupling aiming to grab ratings rather than make any real stab at proper character-based drama. The sort the show used to do when it was in its glory years.
You can almost hear the EE script conference:
‘We need a shocking affair…’
‘Sonia could be a lesbian.’
‘Done it.’
‘How about Max getting it on with his son’s ex-girlfriend?’
‘Brilliant. Hang on. Haven’t we done something like that before?’
‘Not recently but Corrie have.’
‘Did it go down well?’
‘Yes. Really well.’
‘Right then. We’ll nick it…’
The Max and Stacey affair, the death of Pauline, Minty and Garry dressing up, Devil child Ben (he who was laid next to and staring at a stuffed pig’s head during the aborted Beale wedding a few weeks before) and Phil’s new bird Stella, Billy and Honey…
A bit like my neighbour it was all hot air and noise with no reason or substance to motivate behaviour. Bring back Eldorado. All is forgiven…
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