My first flat
living on my own for the first time, I had the upstairs neighbour from hell. He and his whore of a wife used to come home steaming drunk at 3am and proceed to play very loud music till 6am - every so often joining in with a badly played guitar.

Now, I'm a big fat coward, and I wouldn't go upstairs to complain. After all, the town I lived in (and specifically the estate I was on) was notorious for violent and abusive chavs, and I certainly didn't want to get my head kicked in.

After one really, really (did I mention REALLY?) bad night of music turned up to about twelve on the Spinal Tap scale, I plotted my devious revenge.

Six thirty on a Sunday morning, I took out my very squeaky descant recorder (god knows why I still have one of those even now...) and played loudly for at least an hour.

Ah, sweet revenge.
( b3th Not shit. Not mod., Wed 4 May 2005, 17:30, Reply)