Moan, me, nah
All you pissheads will be amazed to hear that my neighbours from hell are a pub. The Terrys who run this shed must be related to, shagging or bribing someone senior because they're obviously above the law. They work to their own interpretation of licensing hours; it doesn't include anything so ordinary as closing time. I work to my job, which means I have to get up at quarter to six each morning. I can't move, the house goes with said job.

This weekend we've had some mindless twunt of a dj on Saturday shaking our house - we're thirty feet away - with an endless stream of forgettable "tunes" over which he laid the same bobbitybobbity bass line for three hours. Last night - Sunday - we were "entertained", despite the thirty feet and our double glazing, blinds and curtains, to karaoke night. Shout night is more like it. This went on until nearly one o'clock, punctuated only by shouts and screams as punters came and went, slamming doors, reving engines and taxi horns. In the past we've had keg-rolling competitions at two in the morning and their chav customers sitting outside all of a sunny Sunday afternoon pissed up with car stereos blaring.

We've given up on the fuzz, who don't even turn up to crimes any more; I presume it's bad for the paperwork flow. Environmental health pretend to be trying to help but don't. Does anyone have a mate in the army air corps? I've got the very practice target for one of their nice shiny new Apache gunships.
(The Jannie, Tue 30 Aug 2005, 21:19, Reply)