Thin walls
Thin walls seem to be a recurring theme of my abodes. My current house is no exception: I love it, but it was built for the late-Victorian working class, and sound insulation wasn't prominent on the builder's briefing.

In the mornings, I'll frequently hear the old lady next door hacking up eighty years of phlegm. In the evenings, the soundtrack changes. It becomes karaoke from the people on the other side. That would be annoying in its own right - but the experience is enhanced by a number of considerations.
(1) It seems to be only one member of the household who sings.
(2) Whoever it is has an amazingly loud voice.
(3) Whoever it is has an amazing ability to miss the high notes by quite a long way.
(4) Whoever it is has an amazing ability to continue, unperturbed, by (3)
(5) Whoever it is has an amazing fondness for Celine Dion - the only song that's been sung (I use the word advisedly) for a long time is "My Heart will Go On". I have a faint memory of Jennifer Rush's "The Power of Love" being attempted once, but that was a freak and statistically insignificant occurrence.

My erstwhile lodger suspected that the perpetrator of these crimes against music might have been the 11-year-old son of the family. He's a nice kid - but if he is the singer, then I really wish that he'd find another interest. Something like gang warfare would be nice.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 10:36, 1 reply)

Or indeed playing the single-string air guitar
Give it 12 months and you'll be fine.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 2 Oct 2009, 15:30, closed)