On a ranting roll- my neighbours
Okay, so I live next door to the lovely Mr. and Mrs. Hughes. Quiet, old of age and very, very Welsh, this lovely couple are adorable, and great to get on with.
This was what I thought until recently.
Granted, it was never a particularly good start to walk in drunk, last September and play ATR at a high volume. I accept that, and when they complained, I turned it straight down and wrote a letter of apology straight afterwards. Subsequent noise transgressions on my part have been dealt with via a sharp knock on the wall, our bedrooms being separated by a moderately thin partition. I have good headphones, it doesn't bother me that much. I thought I'd seen the end of it.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. It was cold, icily so, and one of my housemates had forgotten her keys. I didn't answer the door, perhaps to my fault- it was about 3AM, and I wasn't expecting anyone. Plus, the girl downstairs stood a better chance of answering the door promptly, situated, as she is, next to the front door. So the housemate knocks, and almost instantly, Mrs. Hughes comes out and gives her an earful about having grandchildren sleeping over.
Those are some eerily well-behaved grandchildren.
Nothing comes of it, that is until I catch a view of the letter of complaint they send. Calling us every name under the sun, it threatens to make complaints to the police, the council, the accomodation board at the University, Oliver Cromwell's ghost*, and the spirit of Christmas yet to come**. I wouldn't mind so much were the letter not so (c)rudely written. If there's one thing I DO know, it's that letters of complaint are to be written as formally as is humanly possible. Also, the housemate allegedly "deliberately made noise" after being told off. Well, sorry, I'll suck all of the air out of the house next time. You won't hear a thing! For example;
1. You are making too much noise. Please cease and desist or we will be forced to notify the authorities.
2. Oi! Bitch! Stop making such a fucking racket with your shitty music, or so help me I will rape you through your pants!
Which one of these would you take seriously? (Those who live in the "ghetto" need not answer)
This is naturally compounded by the fact that we have actually directly communicated twice. All other correspondence has been sent to our landlord, the most wonderfully feckless human being on the face of the planet. It reminds me of when I used to sit down for dinner at school, and catch wind of a note saying "Memory's gay". How do you expect me to overtly snog a girl in front of you if I have no knowledge of your issue with me?***
I was thinking of writing a letter of apology, and probably will do so in the next week or so, but still..
I thought old people were supposed to have a kind of belligerent cool, that they'll complain about what they want, to who they want, because they're just that wise. Obviously I was (partially) wrong. Shame, I've learned a lot about how to be from my uber-cool grandparents.
*Not really
**Definitely not
*** Ah, boys' school masculinity. It's like upper-class rugby twonk hardness.
This was what I thought until recently.
Granted, it was never a particularly good start to walk in drunk, last September and play ATR at a high volume. I accept that, and when they complained, I turned it straight down and wrote a letter of apology straight afterwards. Subsequent noise transgressions on my part have been dealt with via a sharp knock on the wall, our bedrooms being separated by a moderately thin partition. I have good headphones, it doesn't bother me that much. I thought I'd seen the end of it.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. It was cold, icily so, and one of my housemates had forgotten her keys. I didn't answer the door, perhaps to my fault- it was about 3AM, and I wasn't expecting anyone. Plus, the girl downstairs stood a better chance of answering the door promptly, situated, as she is, next to the front door. So the housemate knocks, and almost instantly, Mrs. Hughes comes out and gives her an earful about having grandchildren sleeping over.
Those are some eerily well-behaved grandchildren.
Nothing comes of it, that is until I catch a view of the letter of complaint they send. Calling us every name under the sun, it threatens to make complaints to the police, the council, the accomodation board at the University, Oliver Cromwell's ghost*, and the spirit of Christmas yet to come**. I wouldn't mind so much were the letter not so (c)rudely written. If there's one thing I DO know, it's that letters of complaint are to be written as formally as is humanly possible. Also, the housemate allegedly "deliberately made noise" after being told off. Well, sorry, I'll suck all of the air out of the house next time. You won't hear a thing! For example;
1. You are making too much noise. Please cease and desist or we will be forced to notify the authorities.
2. Oi! Bitch! Stop making such a fucking racket with your shitty music, or so help me I will rape you through your pants!
Which one of these would you take seriously? (Those who live in the "ghetto" need not answer)
This is naturally compounded by the fact that we have actually directly communicated twice. All other correspondence has been sent to our landlord, the most wonderfully feckless human being on the face of the planet. It reminds me of when I used to sit down for dinner at school, and catch wind of a note saying "Memory's gay". How do you expect me to overtly snog a girl in front of you if I have no knowledge of your issue with me?***
I was thinking of writing a letter of apology, and probably will do so in the next week or so, but still..
I thought old people were supposed to have a kind of belligerent cool, that they'll complain about what they want, to who they want, because they're just that wise. Obviously I was (partially) wrong. Shame, I've learned a lot about how to be from my uber-cool grandparents.
*Not really
**Definitely not
*** Ah, boys' school masculinity. It's like upper-class rugby twonk hardness.