Feb 25, 2007

Bolton at home, preview

I've not had much sleep. The Killers (by the way) were quite outstanding last night. Took me an age to travel back from Wembley. Which also looks outstanding too, with its nice little arch. Hopefully, back to see that in May. When I got in, I watched MoTD just to see Curbs West Ham get dicked by Pardews Charlton. Anyone else notice the Spurs badge instead of the WHU badge when Lineker was introducing the game? Nice one.

Anyways, this was followed by a FM2007 session (need to take advantage of time spent away from girlfriend). I hit the sack around 4am. Only to be awakened by the fucking loud cunt living downstairs. People who use the forum will have heard me bitch and complain about him many many times before.

Basically, the man is a fucking irritation of the highest order. He's East European; Russian or Polish or something. Works as a courier - as he owns a motorbike and seems to be out during the day and then sometimes again in the evenings till the early morning (around 2-4am). He's a big huge fucker. And he has.......and this is no fucking exaggeration.....the loudest fucking voice you will ever hear. When he talks, he shouts. Its deeper than the fucking Grand Canyon. His voice goes right through you, shuddering your bones and sometimes even cracking one or two.

Additionally, he is one oblivious sonofabitch. See, the thing that grates me even more is that he goes about his business as if he lives all alone in the middle of a forest with nobody around him for miles and miles and miles.

I live in the upstairs flat, he lives downstairs.

If he doesn't go to work in the evenings, he has his TV blasting out some soap opera/Russian tv show. And most of the time he can have his TV blasting till gone 2am. If he's out working, its so quite and peaceful, you wonder whether his wife just tip-toes about in feather slippers.

When he gets in from work, the first thing that wakes you up his him parking his motorbike in the front garden. And on many occasions he sees fit to switch on his tv - gone 2am - for a little soap before he lays his big fucking head on his pillow.

Its staggering really. And what makes it even more epic is that God forbid I make any kind of noise if he happens to go to bed during a week day at say, 10pm or 11pm. I once dropped a coat hanger in my bedroom (directly above his bedroom) and I could hear him going mental. I mean, get a fucking grip you cunt........am I supposed to live my life around your fucking shift patterns?

The prick. This morning, he woke me up again. I would say he was having a conversation with his wife, but a conversation is when the other person has something to say too. All I could hear was him talking and talking and talking and talking. It was a tirade of non-stop chatter, no pauses or full stops.....just a continuation of his fucking loud fucking voice and laughter.

Yes. I have now twice knocked on his front door, to no avail. The reason I've taken so long is because I'm a stubborn person. I have faith (mis-placed) that even him - a loud cunt of a human - is capable of coming to the realisation that maybe he is being a tad too oblivious. But seems my faith is misplaced.

So fire with fire. I do the vacuum cleaning when I know he is having a lay in. I play dirty tech house at full volume when ever I'm in. I make use of my Denon surround sound system but watching my DVD's at ear-bleeding volumes. I'm hoping this results in him making a complaint about me. I'd fucking love that.....just love it.

If I suddenly disappear from the Interweb, I'm doing porridge.


No comments: