The Brothel Upstairs (and the Drag Queens of Southwark)
If I were writing a book about my life, this would be an entire chapter: I think our upstairs neighbors are running an orthodox Jewish brothel.
OK, so, they just moved in a few weeks ago, and they seemed reasonably nice at first (haven't actually met the wife, but the husband is this incredibly demure little man in ringlets and a yarmulke, pretty standard issue for this neighborhood. They didn't seem like anything to worry about, in any case.
Then came the boxes. No sooner had they moved in fully than piles of cardboard boxes -- cartons and containers of every kind -- appeared in the driveway. In England, the trashmen won't remove this stuff -- you have to call your local council and pay to have them removed. Weeks and weeks later, our new neighbors still haven't done so. Our property is an eyesore and a few of our other neighbors have started to complain.
Then came the baby. It turns out that Ben & Sophie -- those are the new couple's names -- have a very loud baby. But OK, we can get past that much -- it's certainly not pleasant to be awoken by a screaming baby in the middle of the night, but people have endured much worse living situations before.
Then came the cigarette butts. They started accumulating in our backyard -- we weren't initially sure where they were coming from. Then Camille caught the guy in the act -- flicking one off his balcony into our yard below. But even then -- having been caught red-handed -- the dude told her that it wasn't him, the butts weren't his, and they must be from one of us. She said, none of us smokes. He said, your flat-mates must be lying to you; it wasn't me. The nerve!
Add to all of this the fact that these people are loud -- running their very loud dryer at all hours of the night and pacing around the area directly above my bedroom with purpose -- these are no nimble-footed nymphs, my friends -- at every hour of day and night. I know they have a baby... but jeezus christ, man -- I swear to god, these people never ever sleep!
Then came the visitors. Alicia and I are both fairly certain that Ben & Sophie & the baby aren't the only people living up there right now. We're not sure how many people are living there, or who any of these other people is... but we're pretty sure there are others, at least. The amount of traffic has gone up exponentially over the past week or so, since they've really settled in -- and the semi-absurdist amount of all-day-all-night noise over our heads is matched only by the truly remarkable number of comings and goings -- most of them involving hearty slammings of the front door (which tends to rock our entire flat every time it happens). Who are these people who are always coming and going?, you well may ask. We've been asking ourselves the same question, and have as of yet come up with no good answers. My favorite part -- Alicia's too, I think -- is the shouting: several times this week, in broad daylight, some guy or other has stood in the driveway and shouted up to Sophie to let him in. I mean, what is this, Venice in the 1500's?? There's a doorbell there for a reason, guy! Or how about the handy use of your mobile phone -- or a good old-fashioned rat-a-tat-tat on the door itself? Shouting? Seriously?
The only conclusion I can come to is that these people are, in fact, running a brothel for the Chosen People right under our roof. I mean dude, what are we supposed to think? I don't honestly know what's going on up there -- but whatever it is, it's out of the ordinary for sure; and more importantly, it's been keeping me up all night long.
On a lighter note, tonight was another treat: an all-male production of The Mikado at this adorable, tiny-as-can-be little black-box theatre in Southwark, made-over space right under an old bridge. Gilbert & Sullivan is pretty much always good... but this was just the right attitude, and the all-male thing was not only strangely appropriate, but revealed a very new dimension to the show that seemed like it must always have been there, unnoticed. It worked, it made perfect sense. And the singing was awfully good, including the falsettos from the Three Little Maids. I wasn't as drawn-in as I would have liked to be by the Katisha-Koko scene, which was played with a little bit too much genuine "acting" for my tastes (this is G&S, after all -- pure silliness)... but even that was passable, and the whole thing was a barrel of laughs from A to Z. Bravo to the director! Great stuff... really great stuff :)
OK, so, they just moved in a few weeks ago, and they seemed reasonably nice at first (haven't actually met the wife, but the husband is this incredibly demure little man in ringlets and a yarmulke, pretty standard issue for this neighborhood. They didn't seem like anything to worry about, in any case.
Then came the boxes. No sooner had they moved in fully than piles of cardboard boxes -- cartons and containers of every kind -- appeared in the driveway. In England, the trashmen won't remove this stuff -- you have to call your local council and pay to have them removed. Weeks and weeks later, our new neighbors still haven't done so. Our property is an eyesore and a few of our other neighbors have started to complain.
Then came the baby. It turns out that Ben & Sophie -- those are the new couple's names -- have a very loud baby. But OK, we can get past that much -- it's certainly not pleasant to be awoken by a screaming baby in the middle of the night, but people have endured much worse living situations before.
Then came the cigarette butts. They started accumulating in our backyard -- we weren't initially sure where they were coming from. Then Camille caught the guy in the act -- flicking one off his balcony into our yard below. But even then -- having been caught red-handed -- the dude told her that it wasn't him, the butts weren't his, and they must be from one of us. She said, none of us smokes. He said, your flat-mates must be lying to you; it wasn't me. The nerve!
Add to all of this the fact that these people are loud -- running their very loud dryer at all hours of the night and pacing around the area directly above my bedroom with purpose -- these are no nimble-footed nymphs, my friends -- at every hour of day and night. I know they have a baby... but jeezus christ, man -- I swear to god, these people never ever sleep!
Then came the visitors. Alicia and I are both fairly certain that Ben & Sophie & the baby aren't the only people living up there right now. We're not sure how many people are living there, or who any of these other people is... but we're pretty sure there are others, at least. The amount of traffic has gone up exponentially over the past week or so, since they've really settled in -- and the semi-absurdist amount of all-day-all-night noise over our heads is matched only by the truly remarkable number of comings and goings -- most of them involving hearty slammings of the front door (which tends to rock our entire flat every time it happens). Who are these people who are always coming and going?, you well may ask. We've been asking ourselves the same question, and have as of yet come up with no good answers. My favorite part -- Alicia's too, I think -- is the shouting: several times this week, in broad daylight, some guy or other has stood in the driveway and shouted up to Sophie to let him in. I mean, what is this, Venice in the 1500's?? There's a doorbell there for a reason, guy! Or how about the handy use of your mobile phone -- or a good old-fashioned rat-a-tat-tat on the door itself? Shouting? Seriously?
The only conclusion I can come to is that these people are, in fact, running a brothel for the Chosen People right under our roof. I mean dude, what are we supposed to think? I don't honestly know what's going on up there -- but whatever it is, it's out of the ordinary for sure; and more importantly, it's been keeping me up all night long.
On a lighter note, tonight was another treat: an all-male production of The Mikado at this adorable, tiny-as-can-be little black-box theatre in Southwark, made-over space right under an old bridge. Gilbert & Sullivan is pretty much always good... but this was just the right attitude, and the all-male thing was not only strangely appropriate, but revealed a very new dimension to the show that seemed like it must always have been there, unnoticed. It worked, it made perfect sense. And the singing was awfully good, including the falsettos from the Three Little Maids. I wasn't as drawn-in as I would have liked to be by the Katisha-Koko scene, which was played with a little bit too much genuine "acting" for my tastes (this is G&S, after all -- pure silliness)... but even that was passable, and the whole thing was a barrel of laughs from A to Z. Bravo to the director! Great stuff... really great stuff :)