My neighbour hit new heights of idiocy this weekend.
Sitting in his stoned ignorance within his little hovel, he played his dull, looped dub reggae so loudly the walls were shaking with bass. Obviously, we all like to play music loudly once in a while, but usually half an hour does the job, I find, and it's best to restrict it to Saturday evenings. But this bloke really knows no bounds and he played the same tune for about, by my estimation, four hours.
Recently he has been pestering my landlord with the complaint that our floorboards creak noisily when we walk on them and sent me a personal message asking me to step lightly in the morning. I tried to laugh these complaints off - after all, if he has no respect for us then why should we for him? In addition to the dub we put up with him slamming doors every time he leaves or enters, rearranging his furniture twice weekly and finally, probably the best example of cannabis psychosis I've seen save for the time my ex best friend was caught with a knife in his neighbours garden, shouting insults at himself so loudly we can hear it two flights up.
My landlord decided that he ought to be seen to take the complaint seriously so arranged a 'sound-test' whereby we would walk around our flat and he could check the complaint from our neighbour's flat. I had a problem with the idea but the lady, in her wisdom, suggested it would make us seem unreasonable to refuse and when it was discovered that the problem is minimal, will make the neighbour look like the berk he so patently is.
So that weekend the landlord came over, but when he knocked, immediately informed us that the neighbour wasn't responding when he called. So it was off.
We tried again the next week, but no response from the stoner goon again. So now it has been rearranged for the end of April after the landlord saw him quite by chance in the street.
When the reggae was at full pelt I was enraged, so I stomped about the flat so as to give the goon something genuine to complain about. Then the volume went up, so my stomping increased.
This was followed by the sound of our door being banged on so hard it might've fallen down. It's not the first time the goon has knocked so hard. It's tantamount to harrassment to knock like that. I've told him there's a crime reference number on him and this is all being noted. After hearing the banging I shouted down the stairs.
'Will you PLEASE turn that shit down'.
'IT AIN'T EVEN THAT LOUD - I ONLY TURNED IT UP COS YOU WAS BANGIN' FOOL.'
'Don't call me a fool'.
'YOU'RE GONNA BE SORRY YOU PUSSYCLAT'.
What did you call me?'
After consulting with Bajan friends, I learn that 'pussyclat' is a similar term to 'raasclat' or 'bloodclot' - pertaining to menstrual fluid. Firstly, this isn't a very nice or even apt thing to go calling people with valid complaints against your behaviour.
Secondly, the man-boy who shouted this at me is not Bajan, nor Jamaican, nor black in any way shape or form. He is a middle class white boy whose daddy bought him his pokey little flat and who hangs around with other fair skinned kids who speak in a really badly pronounced faux-patoi. For some reason this gets under my skin even more than the music.
Any ideas on how to quickly bring about this jobless, brainless trustafarian's downfall will be gratefully received.