Thursday, 26 Jun

Where Do They Come From:

Oh the neighbours we’ve had in this place, I tell you. First there was the ‘maestro-wannabe’. This guy had the gall to induldge in his own little piano concerto every Sunday at 6am! One hundred and fifty six Sunday mornings that brought him no closer to being able to play Amazing Grace than the day he began. The housewives of the neighbourhood might have enjoyed hearing his insights on which fabric softner was in fact the softest, or which dish-washing liquid was more gentle on the hands, but everyone ran for cover when he took to the road in his battered Volvo. If wasn’t busy playing chicken with the plastic trash bins in front of the building, then it was the wall of his parking bay.

Things didn’t improve when a rowdy French family moved in. Their hobbies included slamming doors and drawers at every occassion, and dragging chairs across tiled floors day in and day out. The wife wasn’t far better behind the wheel of a car than the previous occupant: the wall of the parking bay was subjected to further punishment, and she backed out in other parked cars on at least three occassions. When the kids weren’t busy screaming their heads off, you could find their footprints across the roof, windscreen, and bonnet of your car. They didn’t last long.

About six months ago, a 50-something-year-old Israeli moved in. He takes great pleasure in blasting his Elton John albums on saturday mornings. Weeknights he has a go at hammering his headboard through the wall, spurred on by the moans of the $5 hookers he finds in the park — two minutes tops.

Ever have any interesting neighbours?

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granted, i am a person of contradiction: i love the colour and the bustle and the diversity of city life, but i also want utter silence sometimes, and the certainty that i decide what i want to hear and see within the confines of my personal environment.….
i’ve had all kinds of neighbours.
in the early 70’s, for instance, in vancouver - junkies who stole half my belongings one day and were remorseful and affectionate the next (my stuff had already been sold on); the deaf hippie downstairs who used his disability to get laid with an almost alarming frequency; the ancient and pathetic drunk who shared my balcony and mentally undressed everyone who dropped by.…
in the eighties, here - a welder, who filled the back garden with toxic fumes for most of the day; and the woman across the road who kept track of all comings and goings from behind a parted curtain, unembarrassed;
and more recently - a sailor and his girlfriend who had allnight parties at least twice a week, blasting music i detested into my sleeplessness, at a volume that could be sung-along-with, here, four houses away.
and now? all is well, at least until the next “for sale” sign appears and who-knows-what happens!

lynn | June 28, 2003 07:28 PM
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I love the neighbors who share my walls, but the fella in the house right behind us is the worst. He’s outside (?!?!) every night at midnight, violently coughing up a lung. Then, he does it again at 7 a.m. All I want to know is: why outside? Jesus man, stay inside and spare us all. Or quit hitting the bong so hard.

Jake | June 28, 2003 08:08 PM
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how about living above a family (all four of em) that chain smokes - the father with this stankass cigars.

thanks for the laugh, and reminding me how glad i am for not living in an apartment again…

chrys | June 30, 2003 09:42 PM
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The fundamental sense of freedom is freedom from chains, from imprisonment, from enslavement by others. The rest is extension of this sense, or else metaphor. by online gambling

roulette | December 8, 2004 11:49 AM
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    forget!




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